


Inside

by my_achilles_heel



Series: In (Professor Jeffrey Dean Morgan) [2]
Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Jeffrey Dean Morgan - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Professors, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bedroom Sex, Desk Sex, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Heavy Angst, Law School, Lawyers, Legal Drama, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Professors, Romance, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Tension, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:31:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 115,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8516803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_achilles_heel/pseuds/my_achilles_heel
Summary: It's the last semester, of her last year of law school. Graduation is three months ago, followed by sitting down to take the New York Bar three months after that. She already has a paid internship working in the field of law she wants to go into, with a job waiting for her at that same law firm once she passes the Bar. But, not everything happens as planned, no matter how much those plans may be set in stone.Especially when her own professor is involved...





	1. Prequel

_I walked by a colorful sidewalk. Children with buckets of pastel chalk._

I catch myself thinking of you from time to time—even now, I still do. Its moments when I notice I’ve been staring at the water swirling around till it goes down the drain while I’m in the shower. Sometimes you come to mind when I simply take a seat at my desk, about to start on my work.

_And I thought of you, my love._

The corners of my lips begin to slowly twitch into a smile, while the tip of my index finger runs along the edge of my mug.

I chuckle at myself—I laugh so very lightly at how you manage to come to mind despite how long it’s been.

_So I walked until the sun went down. I thought no one else was around._

I press my lips together, letting them form a firm line as I stare down at the hot liquid in my mug. Maybe right now, it’s because I’m reminded of your dark, espresso eyes that would always glance to mine—that I’ve seen up close in ways that are forever burned into my memory.

_Until I saw you, my love._

I finally allow myself to look away, blocking out the flashes of all the ways I’ve seen your eyes looking into mine—especially of the last time I looked into them…

I scoot in my chair closer to my desk, sighing as I look at all the white papers and folders spread throughout. And then I press my lips further together at yet another memory—at yet another very quick flash.

_My black, white life turns to color—_

*******************************************

_2 years ago_

“What the fuck, Calla?!” he curses at me, grabbing one of the messy folders off my desk and holding it up, making me look at all the papers sticking out of it. “I thought you knew better!” he says, and he chuckles lightly at me in return.

I giggle, reaching forward and trying to grab it from him. “I know, _I know_! You know how horrible I am at organization, Jeffrey.”

_—when you pull out your suitcase of finger paints._

He holds the folder a bit farther up above my head so it’s out of my grasp—we’re both grinning from ear-to-ear as I try to reach up and grab it from him yet again.

“You think I would have known this considering you were my _student_ once upon a fucking time,” Jeffrey laughs.

I pout my lips as I try and reach for it just a bit more. In return, I feel Jeffrey’s arms swing around me, pulling me in close to his body, rocking me back and forth. He buries his head into my hair, chuckling, while I giggle and squeeze him tight. I feel the papers and edge of the folder brush up against my back as he squeezes me tighter.

_My cheeks burn red from your kisses._

“ _Mmmm_ ,” he hums into me, and I shiver. I hear him breathe in deeply before exhaling. “I love you, doll, _despite_ how unorganized you may be.”

I throw my head back in laughter. “You _better_ lo—“

I’m cut off when I feel Jeffrey press my back against my desk, capturing my lips with his, when I hear something fall over behind us.

I break our kiss, turning my head away from him, while he looks at the same scene from behind his glasses.

“Oh, _shit_!” I say, scrambling out of Jeffrey’s arms, completely turning to my desk. I quickly grab my mug, that was filled with black coffee, that fell over because of us. I reach out and try and save as many papers and files as possible from the spilled liquid that’s spreading across my desk.

“ _Fuck_!” Jeffrey curses, doing his best to help rescue as many papers and files as he can, too. We put those in a stack on the floor near my bookcase. As to the paper the papers that either have spots of coffee or are soaked, we carry those out, and lay them out on my kitchen counter to dry.

We stand in my kitchen together now, and I sigh as I look at how filled my counters are with every stained document. My lips twist in thought, and I cross my arms. Those were all crucial for my most recent case, too…

“Calla, I’m so sorry,” Jeffrey says, breaking the silence. “This is all my fault—“ He reaches out, arms barely extending out towards me.

I turn my head and look at him, blinking my eyes. I see those light, hazel eyes staring at me from behind his glasses, filled with worry. His brow is creased, and corner of his are lips pulled down in a frown.

“No, no, it’s okay!” I say with a smile. I place my hands on his face, thumbs brushing over his facial hair. “What use is it to worry when there’s nothing we can do about it now? And anyway…” I lick my lips, eyes glancing down to his lips and back to his worried eyes. “…it’d be hypocritical for me to complain, considering I was enjoying where things were going earlier…”

Jeffrey smiles back at me, wrapping his arms around my lower back, pulling me into him. He licks his lips and lifts his brows up and down at me. “Really now? Because I was too.”

He captures my lips in a passionate kiss, and I can’t help but smile against his lips in return.

*******************************************

_My blue heart shivers and misses your brushstrokes._

I blink my eyes, pulling myself out of that memory. I try and shake off my thoughts of him, and where I’ve now ended up.

I bring my mug to my lips and take a sip. I place it down on my desk and grab the nearest case folder to me. I open it and begin to read over the contents within it.

_A masterpiece made in the rain made to wash away._


	2. Preview of Good Things to Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***IMPORTANT***:
> 
> Hey ya’ll!
> 
> So, as you may know by now, I’ve decided to rewrite “In” but have it be JDM/OFC instead of continuing it to be JDM/Reader, just because of the some of the things that were starting to get in the way since it was going to be a long term fic. 
> 
> That being said, I’ve made a ton of chapter outlines for the chapters to come with “Inside.” I wrote out part of one of those chapters (I’m not telling you which one), as a teaser of some of the fluff I’m gonna shower you all with ;) This teaser is written in JDM's POV.
> 
> I also changed the name of my OFC from Perla to Calla for this fic; I already updated the Prequel on both here and Tumblr to reflect this.
> 
> P.S. This chapter is written to "Kids" and "Birthday Cake" by Emily Kinney.

_11 PM, Friday  
_ _Professor Morgan’s Office_

_A blue buzz in the dark, a message in my ear_

My skin is completely flushed, my heart racing, as I put my clothes back on. I slip my slacks on, buttoning and zipping them up, and then place on my belt. I grab the green button-up shirt I was wearing earlier off the floor and slide it on, rolling up the sleeves, but I leave it open. As my hand grabs my glasses off my desk, sliding them on, I finally look over at her.

_We’re both alone tonight._

I watch as she wiggles into her tight, form-fitting skinny jeans, and next slides on that coral chiffon blouse. I had earlier caught myself in the middle of lecture, admiring the way it glows off her caramel skin.

_Tonight._

I see Calla grabbing at her wild, curly locks of hair, twisting those plump lips of hers in frustration as she tries to figure out what to do with the mess I created of her hair earlier.

“C’mere,” I say, breaking the silence, reaching a hand out and motioning for her to step closer to me. Her brown eyes meet my own, and she nods, closing the distance between us. I take a seat in my chair, my arm swinging around her hips and pulling her into my lap. I groan as she settles on top of me, and I squeeze her body impossibly closer to mine. “Do you have a hair tie?” I ask.

“Mhm,” Calla says, taking the one she has on her wrist off and handing it back to me. I take it from her and my hands grab her hair gently, gathering it up, and once more I’m finding just how much I love how soft it is. “What are you going to do?” She says, suddenly twisting to look back at me.

“Hey!” I say, frowning. “I can’t work my magic if you don’t sit still, sweetheart,” I say, and she only chuckles and rolls her eyes at me. Calla turns away, sighing, allowing me to get back to work.

_Can’t steady the current no matter how hard I try._

I work a steady pace, gently pulling her hair together in a French braid. And as I do so, I see her tilt her head back, making me smile. I can see just slightly from this angle that her eyes are closed, and her lips are pulled together into a soft smile. Once I finish braiding her hair, I squeeze her shoulder. Calla lifts her head back up, turning to look at me. The back of her hand goes to the braid, feeling it, and she smiles in surprise at me. “I didn’t know you knew how to braid!”

I chuckle at her. “One of my many unknown talents.”

_Connect the dots upon my neck. Climb the stairs and take a chance._

I feel her twist on top of me, turning so her legs hang off mine to the side, facing forward towards me. Her arms swing loosely around my neck, and I find myself admiring every centimeter of her skin. I bring my hand up, caressing her cheek, my thumb brushing over her skin. I watch as I now run the tip of my index finger from freckle to freckle on her cheek, relishing in the feeling of her soft skin. As I trace constellations with the freckles on her left cheek, I hear her sigh in return. I move my hand lower now, down to her chest, and I carefully run the tips of my fingers over her collarbone, memorizing every dip and sharp curve. Her eyes are closed as I do so. I lick my lips as I move my hand to the back of her neck, gripping her tight there, and press my forehead to hers.

_We could all use an anchor._

I find her eyes opening to look into mine, and I’m mesmerized. I soak in the milk chocolate color of them, and the bits of amber that surround her pupils. And those very eyes are staring back into mine, filled with affection. I can’t look away— _I can’t look away._

We stay like this, the only sound I can hear is our breathing—her light breath that falls out of her slightly parted lips, while our breaths intermingle. I want to close my eyes, but I can’t look away. I can’t find the will to.

Calla eventually pulls away, resting her hand on top of my chest, her fingers pulling very gently at my chest hair. My chest rises and falls beneath her soft hand. My eyes flicker away from hers, watching as her hand travels up to the collar of my open dress shirt, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the edge of it.

_You’re not afraid of the sea._

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” I ask in a low voice, finally breaking the silence.

She laughs lightly, shaking her head at me. “I’m not sure if I should say,” Calla mumbles.

I smile, bringing my hand up to cup her cheek once more. “C’mon,” I say, motioning for her to continue as I tilt my chin up, “You know you can tell me.”

She twists her lips in thought, staying silent. My smile only widens in return, and I pull her in closer to me. I start to shower her with kisses all over her face—her cheeks, chin, adorable little nose. Calla giggles in my grasp as I do so, and I feel her lean into my hand that’s on her cheek. Eventually she sighs, and I stop kissing her.

“I just…I want to see you somewhere other than on campus, in class, and in your office. I want to see _you_ in ways no one else gets to.”

_Let’s go dive in together._

I lick my lips for a moment in thought, and stay silent. I would be lying if I didn’t like the sound of that, but I’m not sure if I should even dare to propose this wild idea that’s in my mind now that she’s said that…

But I do anyway.

“Come over tomorrow afternoon. Spend the night. We’ll get take out and watch a movie, have some great sex, and spend all of Sunday being lazy together. Yeah?” I ask with a smile, my thumb brushing over her cheekbone.

Her cheeks rise as she smiles and nods, giggling. “I quite like that—I can just picture it now…”

“ _Mmm_ , oh can you?” I ask, wiggling my brows playfully. “And what exactly are you picturing?”

Calla giggles, resting her hand on my right cheek, and I feel her thumb brush over my skin and beard as my own thumb continues to brush over her cheek. “Sitting in your studio apartment that most likely has bookcases all around that are completely filled with books. Lounging on the sofa as the sunlight spills in through the windows, while both of us reading and working. Until it’s dinner time, and we order Chinese—or pizza—or whatever, really, I’m not picky,” Calla teasingly sticks her tongue out at me, and I chuckle in return. “And we walk just around the block from your place together, pick it up, and bring it back. After we eat we close the blinds and relax on the couch, sharing a blanket, and put on a movie. But there’s no point because…” Calla stops, laughing as she brings her hands to her face. Her cheeks are completely bright red as she shakes her head at me. “Okay, I _really_ need to stop now— _you_ should have stopped me a long time ago, actually!”

My lips are quivering, trying to so hard not to laugh at her, but I end up bursting out into a loud and booming laugh. Her blush only deepens in return. I sigh, my laughter dying down now, as I take both her hands off my face and hold them up between us, squeezing them. “I hate to burst your bubble, sweetheart, but I could listen to you go on and on about _all_ the ways you imagine us being together in that adorable head of yours.”

Calla blinks her eyes, staring at me, her lips parting. I find that my own lips are as well. I glance down at her lips and look back up at her eyes just in time to find hers looking back up at mine. And suddenly she presses her lips to mind roughly in a passionate kiss, capturing my lower lip between hers. My eyes automatically close as I wrap my arms around her, pressing her further into me.

After a minute or two I pull away, my breathing ragged as I look at her. Calla begins to giggle, which only makes me laugh.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m just going to have to take you home tonight and keep you all to myself this weekend starting now instead of waiting until tomorrow,” I lick my lips and smile. But I press my lips into a firm line as I notice the right corner of her lips beginning to inch up into a smile.

I narrow my eyes at her now and smirk. “Tell me whatever idea you just had.”

Calla furrows her brow at me before bursting out into a laugh. “How the hell did you know I had an idea?!”

I can’t help but grin cockily now. “You don’t think I know that face you make when you’ve had an epiphany and you _know_ yourself that it’s a good one? Why do you think I call on you so damn often in class?”

Calla giggles and shrugs. “I don’t know—I thought it was because you’re just a little biased towards me.”

I throw my head back in laughter, and I hear Calla starting to laugh along with me.

“Oh, just fucking tell me already,” I say, and I move my hands so I’m holding her face. “What’s—,” I press my lips to the top of her forehead.

“In—,” I kiss her right temple.

“That—,” I kiss her left temple.

“ _Beautiful_ —,” I kiss her left temple.

“ _Intelligent_ —,” I kiss her right cheek now.

“Head—,” And now I kiss her left cheek.

I bring my lips to hers now, but I don’t kiss her. “Of yours, Calla,” I finally finish, letting my lips brush against hers as I say this.

And while I do this, Calla giggles underneath my touch—laughs with every single kiss I place on her—and presses her body further into mine.

She bites down on her lower lip now before sighing aloud. “Take me home,” she says lowly, eyes gazing affectionately back at mine. Before I have a chance to react or say anything, she leans into my ear, her lips brushing against my earlobe as she whispers softly, “Just take me home, Jeffrey.”

_Put your hooks in me._

I feel a shiver run up my spine as she does this. My face grows warm, and my heart rate picks up. Calla pulls away, and as she comes back into my view I find that she’s smiling warmly back at me.

I begin to smile at her, shaking my head. “Sweetheart, you do realize that’s the first time you’ve called me by my name, don’t you?” I lick my lips.

She nods her head.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get use to how fucking _sexy_ it sounds coming from you.”

Calla’s lips part, and just when she’s about to speak, I scoop her up into my arms as I stand up. I grin down at her and find that she’s looking at me with wide eyes. “Calla, you really don’t give me any choice _but_ to take you home with me, now, you realize that?”

She laughs, wrapping her arms around my neck, and I feel her thumbs press into the back of my neck. “Why else do you think I said it, Jeffrey?” Calla smirks. “I know how to play my cards.”

I laugh as I put her down so she’s standing now, kissing her immediately. I pull away and suck in a breath, somehow managing to find the will to control myself. “C’mon—let’s get ready,” I say, running a hand through my messy hair.

Calla brings her hands to the top button of my shirt and I glance down at her. “More like _you_ need to get ready, considering I’m good to go,” she teases, sticking her tongue out at me as she starts to button up my shirt for me.

I shake my head at her, smiling, for once not knowing how to counter back. But I stop as I watch her tiny fingers work their way down my shirt, so completely focused on making sure not to skip a button.

_I’m pulling at my jeans waiting for you to get here tonight._

Once she buttons the bottom one, I take her hands in mine. I bring them up to my lips and kiss the tips of her fingers. Calla’s cheeks light up as she smiles sheepishly.

“How lucky am I?” I say, squeezing her hands. “To not only have the honor of taking _you_ home, but also to keep you _all to myself_ this weekend.”

Calla licks her lips and she squeezes my hands back. She takes a step forward, pressing her body to mine, and her hands leave mine to come up to my face. “Oh, I think I would know. All the women in our class would be _so jealous_ , and would absolutely hate me, if they knew what we were doing behind closed doors,” she smirks. Her hands come back down as she takes a step away, and I tuck my shirt into my slacks.

“They’d be out for blood if they knew,” I chuckle. “And so would the men if they knew I was taking you home.”

Calla laughs as she grabs her bag, and I grab my own.

_So call me any night, any day of the week—I want to learn what you’re all about._

We walk over to the door and stand by it. She turns to me before I get a chance to reach forward and open it. “So what’s the game plan?” she asks.

“You’re going to walk out of my office, first,” I begin. “Exactly after one minute I’ll leave and lock it up. Go to your car and pull out of the parking garage, and when you get to the stop sign that’s on the way out of campus, just pull up and wait for me. Once I come by on my motorcycle, just follow me.”

_Tell me all your troubles—clear out your head. And lets play hide and seek inside my bed._


	3. A Little Bit Scandalous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering what Calla looks like, this is basically what her face looks like, as well as her skin tone:
> 
> http://aurorathesassmaster.tumblr.com/post/153295863671
> 
> And this is what her hair looks like:
> 
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/b3/f2/7a/b3f27a00f08841f88d0d5dac3d72f296.jpg

**Spring Semester, Week 1**  
_7:30 P.M., Monday  
Negotiations Class_

_Three more months—just three more months, and I’m graduating. Then after that, three months of studying till I sit down for the New York Bar._

I’ve always appreciated the first day—the first _week_ —of a new semester. Even though I’m surrounded by the same people, and I’m at the same school, there’s something about the first week of a new semester that brings me so much hope and happiness. _  
_

I’m sitting in my usual spot like I do for every class—the third row (which happens to be the middle row), in the seat that’s directly in the middle of that row. What can I say? I just enjoy being in the middle—it helps me concentrate on lectures more. _  
_

I lean back in my seat, closing my eyes. Even though today is the first day of a new semester, it certainly wasn’t the first day at my daytime job. I’ve been having a full-time, paid internship at the largest family law firm in New York City. Considering I’ve been intent on going into family law for the past two years, and negotiations (more specifically, mediations) is the niche I plan on going to within family law, I’m incredibly excited for this course— _Negotiations_.

I’m not usually one to take evening classes. But considering that my internship is full-time, which requires that I work from 9 AM to 5 PM (but usually I have to stick in the office till 6 PM to help out), I don’t have a choice but to take my last three remaining classes at night this semester. I’m particularly exhausted today, considering after I got off work today (at 6 PM because I had to stay an hour late, as usual) I barely had enough time to make it to my apartment to eat dinner and then book it to campus.

But regardless—regardless of how heavy my lids feel whenever I blink or close them, I feel that glow of happiness—of warmth, and excitement—that the new semester always brings, wash over me.

I open my eyes and glance down at my watch. The big hand is slightly past seven, and the small hand is on the seven. _7:35 P.M._ It’s already five minutes past when class was supposed to begin.

I lower my hand and place it back in my lap where my other one is. I had enough time when I got back to my apartment to change out of my business casual attire and into a pair of tight skinny jeans, a large, soft pink, off the shoulder sweater that compliments my collarbone, and black boots that stop at my knees. I don’t know why—but I always like to look nice on the first day of the new semester, despite the fact that I always wind up wearing workout clothes starting the second week.

Subconsciously, I raise my hand up, my fingers grabbing onto the small pendant of the gold necklace I wear, twirling it. My eyes stare ahead, zoning out as we all wait in silence.

Then, the door opens. Heavy footsteps fill the eerie silence of the classroom.

I blink my eyes, coming back to reality, and drop my hand back down in my lap. I glance to the door that’s beginning to close, watching as he walks in without even glancing over at us once. _  
_

_Professor Morgan.  
_

He didn’t begin to teach here until my second year of law school—last year. He only taught Contracts, Constitutional Law, Property, and Professionalism & Ethics that year. I remember when spring semester of my second year started, everyone who took his Contracts class that fall semester was talking about how much of a hardass he was. All I’ve heard about him for the past year that he’s been here is that he’s a hardass, especially when it comes to cold calling—that he’s a stickler when it comes to memorizing laws verbatim—and that _all_ the female professors swoon over him, even though they’re all married with families.

Oh, and let’s not forget that he doesn’t wear a wedding ring. Yeah, everyone noticed that.

My eyes watch his profile carefully as he walks to the front of the classroom—as he turns to face us all, setting his worn, brown, leather bag on the table there.

I swallow and press my lips firmly together as I look at him. He has salt and pepper hair surrounding his pink lips, his face completely filled with that colored facial hair while the messy hair on top of his head is a dark brown. He has black, thick-framed glasses on his face. His eyes are cast downwards as he opens his bag, so I can’t tell what color they are.

I glance down a bit, noticing his rather tan skin on his neck and the bit of white, silver, and black stubble that comes under his chin. He’s wearing a plain, white  
button up shirt that’s tucked into his black slacks, with black oxfords for his shoes.

_BOOM!  
_

I blink, nearly jumping in my seat, as the sound of him roughly taking out books from his bag and plopping them on the wooden table, fills the room. The sheer force from his hand and the weight of each book makes the table rattle with each one he places down. And each time he puts one down I can’t help but jump a little in my seat.

After taking out five books, he clears his throat and finally tilts his head up to look at us. His glasses are slipped a bit down on his nose, and his eyebrows are raised as he looks at us. I realize now he meets our eyes that his own are brown—chocolate brown, from where I sit. I watch as those eyes scan the room left and right—up and down—demanding our attention.

_And, oh, does he have my attention._

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Negotiations.”

The rough, deep, and gravely voice that leaves those lips of his catches me off guard. I blink my eyes, unsure of what to make of his voice.

“My name is Jeffrey Dean Morgan, but you all will be addressing me as Professor Morgan. Before becoming a professor for this institution about a year and a half ago, I was a contracts lawyer for about twenty-eight years. I started fresh out of law school, as I’m sure all of you wish to do yourself. Negotiations became my specialty with my work as a contracts lawyer, so as a warning I am  _very_  passionate about this course and expect for you to be the same.”

I swallow while soaking in those words. No wonder he was so hard on his Contracts class last year in the fall when he first started teaching here, and even this past fall—because that was what he’s practiced this _entire_ time. My hands grip each other tightly, fingers laced together, while I watch him. I’m not sure if I should be afraid, considering I know how hard he’s been on _all_ of his students. I’m not sure if I should be afraid, considering I’ve heard about quite a few female students sitting in the who, after being called on by him to recite a rule they were supposed to have memorized verbatim and got it wrong, were chewed out by him only to leave them sitting in the middle of lecture silently crying. I’ve heard of some female students abruptly leaving lecture after this would happen to cry out in the hallway—or some would gather their belongings and walk out of class to go cry in their cars on the drive home. I’ve _especially_ heard of male students getting so ripped apart by him that they would leave class, most dropping out and never being heard of again.

But I’ve also heard of good things about Professor Morgan—oh, so many good things, and I’ve heard for most of his students those good things have outweighed the negatives. That he is actually just a big, soft teddy bear in disguise—but you only get to see that side of him when the class is collectively good and it’s evident that they entire class is just trying their best. I’ve heard he’s sweet, and nice during office hours, no matter whom you are, because he just appreciates the fact that you’re seeking his help and _trying_.

I’ve heard that’s what means the most to him—that you try. Despite how much Professor Morgan wants you to memorize the rules of law for his course, what matters the most is that you do _try_ , even if you get it wrong.

As for all those who have sat in his class crying—those who ran out to cry or left early to cry on the drive home—those who decided to drop out—were all ripped to shreds by him to cause all of this solely because each individual _just didn’t try,_ Professor Morgan begins loosely roll up the left sleeve of his button up, and moves onto the right. His tan forearms are exposed. I can’t help but notice the veins poking out with each of them, and the tattoo on one of his forearms. I twist my lips to the side, curious—the one thing I never heard about him is that he has tattoos. You’d think that people would care to gossip about that, right? _  
_

He clears his throat once more while turning his back to the room and taking a marker from the whiteboard. “Now, tell me—what do you think happens in a negotiation? What elements do you think are crucial in a negotiation?” _  
_

As he begins to write “negotiation” in all caps at the top of the board, underlining it and putting one bullet point under it, I can’t help but lick your lips. I notice his slacks are riding a bit low, his belt nice and tight to hold them up. And it’s those very slacks that make his butt pronounced.

 _Aw fuck,_ I think to myself. _Seriously? Seriously?! You can’t be…focus_.

Professor Morgan turns around, eyes scanning the classroom as he looks for a hand.

He points with the marker in my direction towards, and I blink my eyes. _Fuck—no, he can’t be cold calling me already! We’re barely ten minutes into class, and already…?_ I think to myself. _Why am I even freaking out in the first place? You’ve dealt with cold calling for the past two and a half YEARS, Calla!_

“Tell me your name, and then your answer, everyone. Oh—and I also forgot to mention, please make a name-tag to put in front of you so I can learn your names faster. First and last, please. Now, what’s your answer…?”

My heart is racing as I stare back at him with wide eyes.

“My name is Jake Fischer, and communication and respect are both important elements in a negotiation.”

I don’t sigh aloud, as to not bring attention to myself, but I’m suddenly relieved when I hear the guy behind me speak. _Oh, thank god—Fischer rose his hand, he wasn’t cold calling already.  
_

Professor Morgan nods his head, turning around and adding both those words to the list.

While he does this, I grab my open notebook that’s in front of me and flip it to the back, tearing out a page to turn into a name-tag. I can hear pieces of paper being ripped out throughout the entire room—hear each being folded up, and whispers from some people asking their neighbor for a piece of paper. I fold mine into thirds, and once I do I turn grab my pen and write down the two words from Fischer’s answer that Professor Morgan wrote on the board. Then, I turn my attention back to my name-tag, writing my first and last name on the front of it. I stand my name-tag up so it faces Professor Morgan once I’m done, and I go back to focusing on class, finding that he’s already called on another student who raised their hand.

I chew on the inside of my cheek in thought as that student gives her answer to him.

 _What each party needs and wants—as much as you can get the party you’re representing all of what they want_ , I think to myself. But I close my eyes for a second, trying to push that away— _most likely someone will say that answer_ , I tell myself. _It’s so fucking obvious, how can anyone miss it?  
_

Once he finishes writing down that person’s answer, I notice as multiple hands shoot up eagerly in the air, wanting to impress him as much as possible with their answers. But so far, he’s made no extra comments to anyone after hearing and writing down their answer.

 _You have to make sure all the parties involved get their needs and what they want most out of whatever the deal is so everyone leaves content and happy,_ I think once more. I swallow, though, telling myself yet again that someone will most likely raise their hand and give this answer. _It’s so fucking obvious_. _  
_

“Anyone else?” Professor Morgan asks after five minutes in, lips pressed in a firm line. His eyes skim the room, and I subtly glance around myself too, only to find all those hands that were once up are now gone. _  
_

“Seriously, people. No one can even tell me  _the most crucial_ element to a negotiation?” I swallow at the tone of his voice that’s rough and firm, making him sound nothing but irritated at us.

 _Try—give it a try,_ I internally urge myself. _It’s not like you’re going to fucking die for trying._

I don’t give it a second thought as I shoot my hand up, willing to risk being wrong—willing to potentially risk finding out how it feels to be all of those students he’s left in tears—all for a damn answer that’s been floating around in my head which refuses to leave.

“Ah, yes— _please_ enlighten us,” Professor Morgan says seeming completely relieved.

“My name is Calla Villanueva, and I think the most important thing about a negotiation in making sure the party you’re representing gets not only what they need, but most of what they want out of the deal reached while simultaneously making sure all other parties involved also get the same and are happy with the deal reached.”

As I say that, I watch his face for any indicator to tell me that I’m wrong—that maybe I’m headed in the wrong direction when originally I was on the right path. But I find nothing, because his face remains neutral, as those hardened brown eyes stare directly at me as I continue to speak. Once I finish my answer, I bite down on my bottom lip as my entire body tenses up—as I sit on the edge of my seat, watching his face to see if I can maybe tell what he’s thinking.

But I get nothing—I get nothing from his face yet again, because his lips are still pressed in a firm line.

And then—then, that’s when Professor Morgan’s neutral expression change. He starts to slowly smile, his lips still pressed together. His lips part, showing his pearly whites. His smile grows until he’s grinning from ear-to-ear, the left corner of his lips tilted more up than the right, and eyes narrowed on me. I can’t help but blink my eyes as I stare at him, not sure if I should be afraid or… _turned on? Really?_

“ _Goddamn_ , everyone! Now that’s  _exactly_ what I’ve been waiting to here this entire time! It was  _the only_ answer I wanted to hear. About time! Good job, Miss Villanueva.”

I press my lips together, trying not to blush— _especially_ trying not to smile, because I know everyone’s eyes are on me. In law school, if you get an answer correct and you show any indication of how happy and proud you are of yourself, everyone will interpret that reaction in every single negative way possible. _Oh, she’s so goddamn cocky! Ugh, what a smartass. Yeah, we get it, you got the answer right—let’s wait and see how fucking well you do on the final._ That’s how the reactions usually go—what everyone says when they whisper between each other after class is over behind your back, if you simply smile after being told your answer was correct by your professor. I can’t even imagine what they’d say about me if I even smiled a tiny bit after Professor Morgan giving _that_ big of a reaction to my answer. So I keep my lips in a firm line, watching Professor Morgan writes my answer up on the board in his own words, making the size of it larger than all the other answers written.

And I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, and not the board, as he does this—and even if I didn’t feel the heat of their envious glares, I would know anyway that they were all watching me.

Because this is law school, and that’s how law school is—cutthroat, filled with envy, people trying to one up another through the lowest ways possible, study group versus study group.

But despite that, it doesn’t keep me from being proud of myself internally—doesn’t keep me from giving myself a pat on the back inside my head. And despite how much I try not to blush, I can still feel my face grow incredibly hot.

_I’m so into you, I can barely breathe._

The rest of class turns into a lecture, with Professor Morgan having pulled up a slideshow on his computer as he teaches us all the beginnings to what the foundation is for every negotiation. And for this entire two-hour class period, while Professor Morgan lectures the entire classroom, I find myself growing more nervous by the second.

_But close ain’t close enough till we cross the line.  
_

It’s not because I’m afraid of how difficult this class will be—oh no. I’ve already come to expect the worst-case scenario for his class based off all the horror stories I’ve heard. I also have strong grip on the material he’s teaching so far thanks to my work experience at the firm I currently work for.

But it’s because although he is good at making eye contact with everyone in the room while speaking, I feel like he keeps glancing over to me more often than anyone else. Hell, it’s not even that I _feel_ like he is—I keep noticing it every time he looks around the room, only for his eyes to stop on mine—how each time his dark brown eyes do stop on me, they widen and lips part, pausing just for a second as if he’s looking at me in awe. _  
_

And each time it happens— _oh,_ each time it happens I can’t help but widen your eyes in return, and feel my face grow warm. I can even feel your chest or throat grow tight sometimes in return. For once, I’ve never been more thankful that this first class is all lecture after the very start, because I’m certain that most people are paying attention to the material and his explanation rather than staring at me. _  
_

It’s as soon as class ends at 9:30 P.M. that I try and pack up my belongings as fast as possible—my notebook, pen and highlighter, and my phone. I grab my keys from my backpack and then stand up, slinging it over my right shoulder and let it hang loosely. I push in my chair and walk down the aisle, eyes on the door that my classmates are walking out of.

_“Miss Villanueva.”  
_

I stop in my tracks, three steps up the aisle from the door. I know exactly who said it—not only because of his unique, deep voice, but because no one calls each other “Mister,” “Miss,” or “Misses” before their last name in law school. Yeah, we all know and refer to each other by our last names because professors call us by our last names rather than our first, but only professors add the prefixes.

_Miss Villanueva.  
_

I can’t help but replay in my mind how my name sounded as it rolled off his tongue—each way every syllable sounded as it came off his lips, in that gravelly voice of his.

_Miss. Villanueva._

I turn just my head back to see where he stands at the front of the classroom behind the table, his arms dangling at his side as he looks at me. “Yes, Professor Morgan?” I ask innocently, eyes wide like a little schoolgirl.

* * *

First day of spring semester—and, finally, it’s the first semester I’m able to teach a class that I created and worked my ass off to get approved by the Dean.

My eyes blink, trying to readjust my focus on the words on my computer screen. I know the words look just slightly blurry from the lack of sleep I got last night, since I stayed up far too late and woke up too early to finish up the last few weeks on the syllabus for the reading I plan on getting through. And I know it’s the lack of sleep, rather than my vision getting worse than it already is, considering I was fine just a few hours ago.

I glance to the lower right corner at the digital clock on the screen. _7:29 P.M._

“Fuck!” I grumble under my breath, shooting out of my chair. Three minutes until class starts—how did I lose track of time so easily?  
I grab my leather messenger bag off the floor and put it on my desk. I turn to the small table in the corner of my office where I have the stack of books that we’re using for this class, which I planned on bringing to show them all what they looked like in case they haven’t bought their books yet. I grab the entire pile and place it on my desk, putting each book into my bag. I sling my bag over my left shoulder and hurriedly rush out of my office, making sure to still turn off the lights and lock the door behind me before walking quickly down the hallway. I leave the corridor where all of the faculty offices are and turn into one of the many hallways that make up the law school building. My eyes flicker about, looking for the room number.

_221._

I glance down at my watch.

_7:32 P.M._

I continue to walk, passing by another door. On the bright side, at least my class was luckily placed in a classroom on the same goddamn floor as my office.

_223._

I readjust my bag on my shoulder, considering it was beginning to slip off from how fast I was walking.

_225._

I pass by another door, and come to a stop, turning on my heels.

_227._

The tips of my fingers press along my jawline and chin, and I run my hands over my facial hair, and then run my fingers up and through my hair, as I close my eyes and gather myself. I can’t rush on in here and be so flustered—that just makes me looking fucking _worse_.

I sigh and my arms drop back to my side. I grab the door handle and open it, and walk straight in without thinking twice. I don’t bother to look at any of them as I walk through the front of the classroom, stopping once I reach the table that’s in the center of it. I rest my bag on top of it and take out all five books in it, setting each one down roughly on the wooden desk. As I set each one down, I feel the table vibrate, and from the corner of my eye I can see a few students here and there jump in their seats. I keep my lips pulled together, trying not to chuckle at the sight—trying not to laugh at how intimidated and afraid some of them already are, just from the rumors and seeing me setting my books down _alone._

I turn my head up, eyes glancing around the room. I don’t count to see how many are here, but I can make a rough estimate based on how large the room is and how sparsely filled it is. _17._

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Negotiations,” I say. I continue to scan the room, seeing all of their wide and young eyes glued to me.

“My name is Jeffrey Dean Morgan, but you will all be addressing me as Professor Morgan. Before becoming a professor for this institution a year and a half ago, I was a contracts lawyer for about twenty-eight years. I started fresh out of law school, as I’m sure all of you wish to do yourself.”

I see a few smiles after I say that, and I smile a bit myself even. But then my smile falls.

“Negotiations became my specialty with my work as a contracts lawyer, so as a warning I am _very_ passionate about this course and expect you to be the same.”

I clear my throat and turn my back to the room, taking a marker from the whiteboard. I turn back to them, lifting my brows. “Now, tell me—what do you think happens in a negotiation? What elements do you think are crucial in a negotiation?”

I turn back to the board and write up, with the best of my ability, “NEGOTIATION,” and underline it. I put a bullet point under it and take a step back, for just a second looking at my writing.

 _Talk about a goddamn fucking mess,_ I think to myself as I look at the board before turning around, facing my students. My eyes scan the classroom as I look for a hand, until I see one pop up. He’s a young man, wearing a navy blazer, white button-up underneath, with the top button undone. He has blue eyes and dirty blonde hair—and the smile he has seems all _too_ confident. I point forward with the marker that’s in my hand at him. “Tell me your name, and then your answer,” I lick my lips, and quickly address the rest of the classroom, “Oh—and I also forgot to mention, please make a name-tag to put in front of you so I can learn your names faster. First and last, please,” I turn my attention back to the young man I’m still pointing my marker at, “Now, what’s your answer…?”

As I wait for him to answer, although my focus is on him, I can’t help but notice the facial expression of the young woman who sits in front of him—who sits dead center in the class. Her brown eyes are completely wide, as if she’s struck with fear, and she’s looking at me confused as hell. I try not to snicker, because I know why she’s looking at me like that—poor thing thinks I cold called her considering the guy sits _right_ behind her, and I really can’t blame her for not being able to tell considering how I addressed him.

“My name is Jake Fischer, and communication and respect are both important elements in a negotiation.”

I nod my head and bring my hand back down. As I do so, I can’t help but look over to that young woman once more, seeing her eyes relax as well as her entire body. I turn around and walk to the board, adding both those words to the list. I hear the rustling of papers being folded and ripped out of notebooks as I do so, and when I turn around I see several people folding their name-tags up, writing their names down on them, while others have already finished. I look around the room and call on the next person I see with their hand raised, listening to their answer before writing it down on the board. After that one, once I turn around, I see many hands in their air now that everyone has finished with their nametags. I call on each person one by one, going over the same pattern—take a hand, listen to his or her answer, write it down, call on another person, hear his or her answer, write it down. _Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat._

Until I find that there are no more hands up—that somehow I’ve flown through all of the dozens of hands that had been up for what seemed like seconds ago.

“Anyone else?” I ask, eyes skimming the room, lips pressed together. I wait for someone— _anyone—_ to raise their hand.

But none come up.

I can’t help but be irritated—how the _fuck_ do _so many people_ raise their hands, yet can’t get the fucking answer I’m looking for—the _one thing_ that’s _so fucking central_ to negotiations, and also _so goddamn fucking obvious_? It’s not like I’m expecting them to be experts—no, that’s entirely unrealistic. But I’m expecting this out of them considering how often negotiations occur in our everyday lives. _Everyone_ has experience with negotiating, regardless of how little education they have.

“Seriously, people. No one can even tell me _the most crucial_ element to a negotiation?”

And then I see a hand—I see a hand shoot up so fast, completely raised up. I turn to who is raising it, noticing that it’s the same woman from earlier who looked scared shitless of me because she thought I was cold calling. I can’t help but look forward to what she has to say now.

“Ah, yes— _please_ enlighten us,” I say with a small sigh.

I watch as her plump, pink lips part, about to start speaking.

“My name is Calla Villanueva…”

 _Calla_ , I repeat in my mind. _Like the flower._

 _Villanueva,_ I repeat in my mind afterwards. _I certainly won’t forget her name._

“…and I think the most important thing about a negotiation in making sure the party you’re representing gets not only what they need, but most of what they want out of the deal reached while simultaneously making sure all other parties involved also get the same and are happy with the deal reached.”

I can’t help but look her over while I simultaneously listen to her speak. I see her sharp collarbone stick out, light freckles over her skin there, with a few dark beauty marks. The soft pink of her sweater that hangs off her shoulders brings out the caramel color of her skin. She has dark, ash brown hair that’s all tight curls that stops at her shoulders—the tips of her hair are a dark honey, and I notice shades of light and medium brown mixed in at the bottom of her hair. Her large eyes appear to be the color of milk chocolate from this distance, and she has freckles all over her cheeks, with some on her chin, nose, and forehead. Her cheeks are round, and I notice how much youth and… _enthusiasm_ her face is filled with. I blink my eyes as I notice this, and I’m not sure why it stands out to me so much.

After she’s done speaking, I watch as her entire body tenses, sitting so impossibly straight—as she bites down on that thick, bright pink, lower lip of hers.

And I start to slowly smile until I’m grinning from ear-to-ear, my eyes solely on her. _How could she be so afraid of being called on by me earlier, when she’s had the answer down this entire time?_ I wonder. I’m not sure why, but I’m taken back—mostly by her intelligence, but I find that I’m also taken back by…something else.

“ _Goddamn_ , everyone! Now that’s  _exactly_ what I’ve been waiting to here this entire time! It was  _the only_ answer I wanted to hear. About time! Good job, Miss Villanueva.”

I watch her press her lips together, and her cheeks turn pink. I keep from biting down on my lower lip as I notice they match the shade of pink that her sweater is—that it makes her caramel skin radiate more, and her brown eyes somehow even brighter. I turn around and walk to the white board, writing down her answer in my own words and in a larger size than the other answers.

I turn back around, eyes glancing around the class. “Well, now that we have that settled, we’ll start with the foundations of all negotiations for today’s class.”

I immediately dive into my two-hour lecture by pulling up the powerpoint on the classroom computer that I had prepared in advance, and throughout the entire lecture everyone takes notes the entire time. And although I’m talking nonstop, laying out hypotheticals and such, going over the history of negotiations, as I look around the classroom I can’t help but always allow my eyes to land on _her._

 _Calla Villanueva_.

As she, too, takes notes like everyone else—as she writes with her right hand, but with her left twirls the small pendant of the simple, small gold necklace she wears.

_Calla Villanueva._

As her doe-like eyes leave her notebook to glance up at me periodically, waiting for the next important thing to come off my lips for her to write down.

_Calla Villanueva._

I can’t help but repeat her name in my head each time I look at her—especially each time when I do, our eyes lock for a moment— _just a moment_ —before we both look away.

I don’t have time to think about it at all—about why I can’t keep myself from looking over at her—about why I feel my chest grow tight and my heart race every time our eyes do meet—about why I’m somehow being drawn to her like this—however _this_ may be. I don’t have time to, because I have to try and keep myself focused on lecture.

And eventually, lecture does come to an end—at 9:30 P.M., right on the dot—right when our class is scheduled to end. But even then, I don’t have time to reflect and think about all of that, because all of my students haven’t left yet.

I stand in front of the classroom at the table where my bag and books are, and begin to put the books into my bag as everyone files out the door.

My eyes flicker up as I see long, lean legs in dark denim jeans walking down the steps of the aisle—as I see that soft pink sweater come into view—as those curls that stop just a bit passed her shoulders bounce with every step she takes.

_“Miss Villanueva.”_

I don’t think about it—not once, not twice, just not at all. I say her name, and once I do I realize exactly what it is I want to tell her.

I watch as she turns her head back around to look at me, those wide brown eyes on mine. “Yes, Professor Morgan?” she asks, her voice so sweet—so innocent.

I swallow, glancing away from her for a moment, watching the last two people exit the classroom.

And then I look back to her. I take a few steps around the table, walking around the long rows of tables in the classroom that are each elevated. I walk up a step, growing closer to her.

“I just wanted to tell you,” I begin, and take another step. I stop, and there’s only one step that separates the two of us, making us both see eye-to-eye because it makes up for our vast difference in height. “I was really impressed by your answer. Not many of my previous students have been able to give me that exact answer I wanted on the first day of class. Do you have any previous experience in negotiations?” I lift a brow.

That blush I spotted earlier in class resurfaces on her cheeks, and her lips curl into a soft smile. I can’t help but smile in return, admiring her beauty—just how truly happy she seems in this moment. I don’t know why—I have no idea. _Why does she seem so different from everyone else? Not just her peers, but…everyone else?_

“I’m flattered—really. And I do a bit. I took a class on negotiations for a semester back in my undergrad. But that was a few years ago, really,” she shrugs.

“Well, I wouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Be more confident—you clearly know much more than your peers,” I say, crinkling my nose playfully at her.

And I can’t help but notice that after I do, as her smile only grows, how much her eyes are twinkling under these fluorescent lights. I can’t help but notice from how close we are, that her eyes are indeed a milk chocolate brown, but they also have amber that completely surrounds her pupils. Now Calla begins to shake her head as she does smile at my response.

“I don’t want to let it get to me—I’m in the same exact spot in my education as everyone else is in this class is. Plus, that class was a few years ago—I can’t remember  _everything_ from it. And even if I did, I know there’s much more to learn from your class, Professor Morgan. But thank you—I really appreciate your kind words.”

I chuckle at her, and now I’m shaking my head. “Miss Villanueva, stay like that, alright? Stay humble—it’s a good quality to have, especially as a soon-to-be lawyer.”

I don’t think about it—I don’t think yet again as I bring one of my hands up, patting her shoulder lightly. I notice the difference in size quickly—at how large my hand is in comparison to her tiny body. My eyes glance up at her once again, and I see her blush grow brighter. I suck in a breath, trying to fight off my own.

And then I bring my hand back down, shoving both hands into the front pockets of my slacks. “Well, I’ll see you Friday for class then, right?” I ask, raising both brows.

“Of course—I wouldn’t miss your class for anything, Professor Morgan,” she says.

_I wouldn’t miss your class for anything, Professor Morgan._

I’m not sure why, but that echoes in my mind—maybe it’s the _way_ she said it—maybe it’s because my mind went straight to the gutter, but it does.

I lick my lips before flashing her a smile. “Now _that’s_ what I love to hear,” I reply back, my smile turning into a wide smirk.

And she turns around and walks to the door. “See you soon, Professor Morgan,” Calla says with a grin before walking out the door, leaving me standing in my empty classroom.

I watch as she walks off with the door slowly closing behind her—watching as she takes long strides, her pink sweater moving so gracefully on her body as her hips sway. As the door continues to slowly close, I notice the lean muscles of her upper back—I notice how her incredibly tight curls bounce with every step she takes.

As the door closes, I realize how…how much _light_ and _happiness_ she seems to be filled with.

And eventually that door does shut all the way on it’s own, leaving me standing here, replaying those words in my mind.

_I wouldn’t miss your class for anything, Professor Morgan._

Leaving me here, replaying how my name sounds in that innocent and sweet voice of hers.

_Professor Morgan._

As she leaves me here—standing here in this empty classroom—somehow awestruck.

_I wouldn’t miss your class for anything, Professor Morgan._

_Professor Morgan._

_I wouldn’t miss your class for anything._

_Professor Morgan._

_…for anything._

_Professor Morgan._

* * *

 

_So name a game to play, and I’ll roll the dice._


	4. Temperature's Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourselves for a shitload of sexual tension. 16 single-spaced pages btw.
> 
> \----------------------------------
> 
> Btw could ya’ll please give me some feedback on what you thought of Chapter 2? I ended up taking it a completely different direction than I had anticipated and planned out, so I’m kind of nervous as to how ya’ll are going to react. 
> 
> Let me know through Tumblr via messages, replying through the chapter post on Tumblr, DM’s on Tumblr, comments on AO3, please. Like I REALLY kind of need your feedback on this chapter--it’s crucial and means a lot to me.
> 
> Thank you~~ :-)

**Spring Semester, Week 2**  
_Friday, 6:30 P.M.  
_ _Campus Quad—Starbucks_

_Oh, baby, look at what you started._

I extend my hand out and grab the warm, grande cup that sits on the table I’m at, bring it to my lips, take a sip of the coffee in it, and set it back down. I keep my gaze down, too absorbed into the book I’m reading recreationally as a break from law school to look up.

Not even as I hear a set of heavy footsteps coming in my direction.

Not even as I see someone walking straight for my table.

Not until that person’s voice calls for my attention.

“A quad espresso, huh?”

I tilt my head up and lift my brows. He’s standing directly in front of the small table I’m seated at, his head tilted down, glasses sitting on the very end of his nose, eyes crinkled from smiling. I glance back down at my cup, seeing a bit of the handwriting of the barista scribbled on it, which says, “quad espresso.”

“Yup, my go-to order,” I say as I grab my drink with a smile.

“So you’re telling _me_ that someone as small as _you_ drinks four shots of espresso?” he asks, chuckling. “Fuck, I’m surprised you’re not trembling with all that caffeine coursing through your veins.”

I blink my eyes, not exactly sure how to respond—not exactly sure…where the line is, in this moment.

He swallows, his smile falling, and quickly shakes his head. “Sorry—I probably shouldn’t have said that. I’m just more of… _myself_ when I’m outside of the classroom.”

And now I’m shaking my head, smiling. “No—no, it’s alright! I just wasn’t expecting that, is all,” I laugh lightly, trying to make him feel more comfortable. And as that laughter disappears, I add, “…I like that.”

He lifts a brow. “Like what, exactly?”

I should have known he’d ask for more specification, and I can’t help but smile more now that he is. “That…that you act like _yourself_ outside of class. And, that…I like that— _yourself_.”

Now _he’s_ the one doesn’t know what to say.

“At least, the part of me that you’ve shown so far—we’ll have to see about the rest, that is,” I quickly add on with a smirk, and I’m able to get a good laugh out of him with that comment.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that, and I’m sure you’ll get to see the rest of me…considering you scheduled an appointment for office hours for Monday,” Professor Morgan smirks now.

 _Ah, that’s right._ Monday night, after I got home from the first class, I hopped online and put my name down for one of the many available time slots that were open. At the end of class on Monday, he stated we’d have our first research assignment due two weeks from then, where we’d have to pull up 6-8 relevant cases and extract the laws from them for the fact pattern we’ve been given for the negation simulation we’re going to have the day the assignment is due. Usually, when it comes to assignments like these, the few days before it’s due professors are booked with appointments. Because of this, I like to start on my assignments right away so I can meet with my professors immediately instead of waiting till the last minute so I can fight for an appointment with everyone else.

I nod my head. “Yup, I figured it doesn’t hurt to get a head start over everyone else.”

Professor Morgan licks his lips, and flashes another smile at me. “Hmm…seems like I have a go-getter in my midst. Now, I _like_ that.”

I press my lips together, trying to fight off the blush I know that is threatening to creep up on my face. And even though I also try and fight off my smile while I’m at it, I let it slip on my face.

He clears his throat, and my smile falls now as I stare up at him.

“Well,” he begins, eyes glancing down at the ground for a moment, “you wouldn’t mind having your professor join you until class begins, would you?” His brown eyes meet mine once more.

I suck in a small breath and shake my head. “No, of course not—I think I’d actually like that, too.”

Professor Morgan nods his head, and places his worn down leather bag in the seat across from me. “I’ll grab a cup of coffee, then, and be right back.”

I watch as Professor Morgan turns around, walking away from the table and inside of the campus Starbucks. He’s wearing black slacks again today, but this time has a black turtleneck on with a gray blazer on top. I sigh as I lean back in my seat, watching him walk inside with one hand in the front pocket of his pants.

I shut my eyes as I rest my head back against the top of my chair, tilting it up as if I’m looking at the blue sky above us here in Brooklyn. I’m not sure how much time passes by while I’m like this—while I listen to the birds outside, the honking of cars, the sound of city traffic and pedestrians—while my eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion.

Once I finally open my eyes, I’m met with the image of the blue sky, white puffy clouds in it—no sign of buildings, planes, helicopters, or anything else. Just the blue sky, and white clouds…

I lower my head back down, and now I’m met with the sight of Professor Morgan sitting in front of me, his right ankle settled on top of his left knee, one hand holding onto the book in his lap that he’s intently reading, the other hand gripping his venti cup of coffee.

I wonder when he came back—I wonder just how quiet he was, trying not to disturb me from whatever world I sunk into.

I blink my eyes, watching him, not sure how to exactly look away.

The sun, which is barely beginning to set, makes the silver of his beard glisten. His skin looks rough form age, yet somehow I think if I were to touch it I’d find that it’s so incredibly soft. The wrinkles around the edges of his eyes aren’t so defined now that he’s not smiling, but I like that you can still see them—because it tells me just how often he has smiled throughout his years—how much he still smiles, even now.

“You’re back,” I say quietly.

He lifts his head up, and I watch as the corners of his lips slowly pull into a close-mouthed smile. The crows feet around his eyes crinkle, and his dimples show just a bit. I watch as his eyes meet mine—as I notice how dark they’re not for the first time—that his eyes are actually a mix of hazel and milk chocolate brown that are radiating in this light.

“I am,” Professor Morgan replies softly.

My cheeks slowly rise as I smile. And I feel my face grow warm.

I don’t know how to look away— _I don’t know how to look away._

_And I don’t think he knows how to, either—not with how he’s looking at me like this, in this very moment._

Because he’s looking at me as if he’s so content just being across from me—like he’s at peace while his eyes are set on mine.

_How do I look away? How do I look away?_

I swallow, and finally avert my gaze.

_The temperature is rising in here._

My eyes flicker over to the coffee cup he’s holding, and I’m somehow able to make out the barista’s handwriting scribbled on it.

“Well, I’m surprised _you’re_ not trembling, Professor Morgan, considering you also ordered four shots of espresso,” I smirk, glancing up at him again. I find that his eyes have been on me this entire time—have never left, despite the fact that I had looked away.

“What can I say? You put me in the damn mood after seeing you were drinking it, so I had to,” He smiles.

I smile and shake my head at him, rolling my eyes. I’m not even sure what to say back to him—how to reply.

So, instead, I let the silence settle between us as I glance down at my book, resuming where I left off.

* * *

 

I can’t help but rub my eyes as I walk into Starbucks—staying up until 2 AM grading last night when I knew I had to be up at 7 AM was probably a horrible fucking decision. I can’t be tired like this for lecture tonight.

I walk up to the register and rest my hands on the counter as the barista maker her way over to me.

“Four shots of espresso, please.”

“What size cup?” The barista asks, her hand already near the cups ready to grab one.

“Whatever works,” I shrug as I pull out my wallet from the front pocket of my slacks. My head is turned down as I pull out my debit card, and once I look up I notice that she’s grabbed the largest size.

“What’s your name?” she asks now.

“Jeffrey.”

After she rings up my order, I slide my card and pay, then take a seat at one of the small tables inside.

_Four shots of espresso._

Well, fuck, if she’s in her third year and needing _that_ bad of a jolt, and I’m as fucking exhausted as I am, I’m sure that should do the job for me.

_Four shots of espresso._

I can’t help but wonder now—why is she so tired, as to need that much? Even though I was in law school so long ago, I can’t help but wonder—

“For Jeffrey!”

I raise my brows as I look over to where she stands, sliding my cup out on the small ledge that all the completed orders are put. I stand up from my seat, walk over, and grab my order. On my way out I flash her a kind smile and give her a nod of my head as she waves me goodbye.

As I exit the Starbucks and make my way to where Calla was sitting, I’m met with the sight of her leaning back completely in her seat, head tilted up, eyes shut, still gripping onto her book. Her curly hair slides past the back of her chair, and her lips are pressed together.

I slow my steps as I come closer, my eyes glued on her—my eyes on the sight of the golden sun beaming down, making her caramel skin glow—my eyes on the sight of her long neck, stretching out, just slightly curved.

I walk even slower now as I inch towards our shared table, wanting to be as quiet as possible as to not disturb this peaceful moment. I gingerly take my bag off my seat and place it on the ground, making it lean against the leg of the table. Then I delicately sit in my chair and place my coffee down, lean over, and take one of my books from my bag. As I lean back in my seat, beginning to open my book to where I left off, I can’t help but look at her again.

Her long, black lashes shimmer from the sunlight—her chest hardly rises and falls from her slow breathing—her cheeks are pink, just as they were Monday evening at the end of class.

I have my memory from that evening flash into my mind—Calla pictured there, standing on one of the steps of the aisle, eye level with me, her cheeks turning the same exact soft shade of pink as her scarf.

I finally tear my eyes off her, leaning back in my chair as I grab my drink, taking a sip from it. My eyes look down at my book as I pick up where I left off just a few days ago.

Just a moment later, I barley pick up on the sound of her voice—it’s just loud enough to pull my attention away from my book and towards her without scaring me.

“You’re back,” she squeaks.

I lift my head up, looking at her. I begin to slowly smile because I can’t help it—I can’t help it with how quiet she was when she said that, as if she was trying not to interrupt me yet surprised with how much has passed. I can’t help it because of how her eyes look in this light—the milk chocolate of her irises now light brown, the auburn surrounding her pupils a subtle gold because of the sun beaming down on her face.

“I am,” I reply softly.

And now she, too, begins to smile—her sharp and high cheekbones rising and becoming so round now. And I can’t help but continue to smile as I look at her, because despite how noticeable the dark and heavy bags are under her eyes, she’s radiating. She’s radiating beauty, and seems so… _happy._

Maybe it’s those cheeks of hers—maybe it’s how her skin is free of wrinkles, except for the one at the very top of her forehead that’s barely noticeable that she most likely got from worrying too much, and except the slight wrinkles around her eyes from smiling too much. Maybe it’s because she’s obviously so youthful, while I’m…

But I don’t think that’s it—that’s certainly not it at all.

It’s because, despite how tired she appears to be, she is absolutely stunning in this light—in this moment.

And, then, she finally looks away.

I watch those eyes glance down, but I still can’t find the ability to look away even though she has—because although those beautiful eyes are no longer on mine, I’m still captivated by how she looks just by glancing down, her freckled cheeks slightly rosy. I wonder how soft her skin feels to the touch—if maybe I’d be so lucky one day as to be able to trace constellations and shapes upon her skin…

 _What the fuck are you thinking? Are you a fucking idiot?!_ I suddenly think to myself, and I have to find the will not to sigh aloud now. _She’s your goddamn student. It may be her last semester of law school, but you’re just at the end of week two…_

“Well, I’m surprised _you’re_ not trembling, Professor Morgan, considering you also ordered four shots of espresso.”

I lick my lips as her eyes meet mine once more, and I find that she’s smirking cockily at me.

“What can I say? You put me in the damn mood after seeing you were drinking it, so I had to,” I smile.

Calla shakes her head, rolling her eyes at me, a warm mile on her face. And she looks away from me once more, this time looking down at her book.

I settle back into my seat and let out a low sigh, glancing back down at my book. I read the sentence I was at previously one more time.

And then I can’t help but look up, just for a second, before moving onto the next sentence. When I do, I find that her head is tilted down, eyes slowly moving from right to left, as she grips the book in her lap with both hands. Then I glance back down, reading the next sentence in my book.

Silence comes in between us—comfortable silence.

_Is this gonna happen?_

* * *

 

_7:15 P.M._

I glance at my watch that’s on my right wrist, seeing the time. I blink my eyes, surprised by how much time has passed by like this—with us, sitting like this, reading in silence. I’m even more surprised because when I lift my head up and look over to Professor Morgan, I find that the sun is nearly done setting—that the sky is filled with hues of pink, orange, blue, and purple, and is getting darker by the second, with some of the stars beginning to appear.

And when I do look over at him, I find that his body is angled slightly towards the side, his long leg folded over the other, elbow resting on the arm of the chair with his forearm angled up so his left cheek can rest on his fist as he reads the book in his lap that he’s holding with his other hand. I part my lips, about to grab his attention so I can tell him the time.

_But then his eyes flicker up and look at me._

His warm brown eyes, which appear to be a bit darker than earlier are on me, and he’s lifting his head up so his cheek is no longer pressed to his fist.

“Time to go already?” he asks without moving.

I nod my head slowly. “Yeah…it’s seven-fifteen,” I answer quietly. I sit up straight in my chair and set my book down on the table next to my coffee, and as I do so I watch as Professor Morgan sighs and unfolds his legs. He sets his book down on the table as well, and turns to pick his bag off the ground. I turn to the side and grab my own backpack off the ground, placing it in my lap as well. Him and I both put away our books and finish at the same time, standing up and pushing our chairs in. After standing up, I run my hands over my loose, long-sleeve, floral blouse. Then I sling my backpack over my right shoulder, and he places his bag on his right shoulder.

We both walk around the table, and ever so naturally join each other and walk to class side-by-side at a leisurely pace. In the direction we’re walking towards the building class is in, the light of the setting sun is on us, making my eyes squint. I turn my head and look over to him, finding that he’s squinting his eyes as well.

“Thank you,” I say, “for joining me. It was…nice.”

Professor Morgan turns his head to look at me, raising his hand up and placing it above his eyes to try and block the sun. “No, thank _you_ for letting me join, Miss Villanueva.”

I smile at him, shaking my head. “We’re outside of class—call me Calla. We’re ourselves right now, remember?” I lift a brow.

He chuckles at my comment, and by this time we’re arriving to the building. He opens the door wide open, holding it for me, and I walk in front of him. I hear the sound of the short heels of my small ankle boots click against the tile, and the sound of his footsteps as he catches up to me with two simple long strides. He is a good six inches taller than me, so of course he has that to his advantage.

“Well, _Calla_ , I enjoyed spending time with you—like that,” Professor Morgan whispers, leaning into me just a bit, once he’s walking by my side.

“I’d like to do that again some time.”

I blink my eyes, turning my head to look over at him. I find that his head is turned towards mine, eyes on me, his lips curled into another close-mouthed smile.

And he’s so warm—so inviting, and…and genuine, right now.

I know I’m blushing—I already know I am as my steps slow, and my face grows incredibly hot.

We stop at the door to the stairwell, Professor Morgan opening it yet again for me. I don’t walk in immediately, and instead continue to look at him.

“I’d like that, too. Very much so.”

I say it quietly—I say it in a soft whisper, my body standing directly beside him, just a few centimeters away from brushing against one another. And I immediately turn away and walk ahead of him, swallowing as I try and soothe the heavy beating of my heart.

Once again, he catches up to me with very few long strides, and we walk side-by-side up the three flights of stairs in silence. We stop as he opens the door for the third floor for me, and this time he’s the one turning towards me, our bodies close yet again.

“You okay there, Calla? You’re shaking a bit,” he whispers, eyes glancing from mine and down to my hands.

I swallow as I look down, realizing that indeed my hands _are_ shaking.

And I wonder if it’s from those four shots of espresso—or from him—or maybe both.

I walk ahead of him, and Professor Morgan is quickly at my side as we walk down the hall to our classroom, which is only a few doors down from the stairwell.

“Yup, I’m fine. You know me—I practically shoot caffeine into my veins like it’s cocaine,” I smirk, as we stop in front of the classroom, the door closed. My eyes glance up and down the hall, finding that we’re alone—I don’t hear anyone else coming our direction either.

Professor Morgan chuckles lowly, clutching onto his chest, and I can tell he’s trying to keep himself from letting out a loud laugh, which causes me to giggle as well.

“You sure do have a mouth on you, _Miss Villanueva_ ,” he leans in and whispers into my ear, the front of his body finally grazing against the side of mine.

I turn my head to him and grin wildly before opening the door, stepping to the side as I hold it open for him this time. Professor Morgan nods in my direction as we walks into the classroom. I follow from behind and navigate to my seat, the same one from the first day of class on Monday and the second day of class, which was on Wednesday—middle seat in the middle row. I set my backpack on the counter as I slide into my seat and pull out my notebook, pens, and highlighters.

But I only periodically look down as I do so, because my eyes are on him—because my cheeks are flushed and my face is burning from that comment of his.

And because his eyes are on me as he sets his leather bag down on the table—as he takes out a few pieces of paper that has his lecture material on it. He has a mischievous glint in his eyes I can even make out from where I’m sitting, and I feel my face grow impossibly warmer in return.

_Been waiting and waiting for you to make a move…_

* * *

 

_9:35 P.M._

_…Before I make a move._

I take my time to pack up, while the last few people who didn’t leave when class ended five minutes ago, finally walk out the classroom. And as they do walk out and leave, the room becomes completely silent since they’re talking amongst one another no longer fills it.

I finally finish packing up and stand up from my seat, pushing it in. As I leave my row and walk down the three aisle steps, I see that Professor Morgan is sitting at the table at the front of the classroom grading, and there’s a spare chair pulled up to that table. I hear my own footsteps, which are slightly heavier than usual because of my heeled ankle boots, fill the room. As I step down from the final step, I see Professor Morgan lift his head up so he can look at me.

“Are you staying late?” I ask, eyes glancing from him to the papers in front of him, and back to him.

Professor Morgan sighs, leaning back in his seat, and crosses his legs. “Probably for another half hour before I take these home,” he replies.

I start to walk towards him now, and he’s still watching me. “Do you mind me asking what you’re grading?”

“Not at all. They’re case briefs for my Criminal Law class,” he smiles at me. “Wanna take a look?” Professor Morgan asks while grabbing the one he was currently grading off the table, lifting it up in the air.

I stop, standing in front of the table, and I smile at him and nod my head. “If you insist,” I say, and he chuckles.

Professor Morgan then pats the cushion of the computer chair next to him, “C’mon, take a seat, Calla.”

I take a few steps around and then slide into the seat, sitting up as I scoot it closer to the table. He unfolds his legs and places his feet firmly on the ground as I do so. I turn my head towards Professor Morgan, looking at the case brief he holds in his hand, seeing a few red marks on it. And then I blink my eyes as I see him scooting closer to me in his computer chair—till he’s completely at my side, the wheels of our chairs touching, as well as our upper arms. Just like before class started, I can feel my face growing warmer with each passing second.

“You remember _R. v. Dudley and Stephens_ , right?” he asks as he turns his head to me, tilting it down and looking at me.

I tilt my head up now, nodding it. “Of course! How can _anyone_ forget not only an English common law case, but a case on cannibalism?” I giggle, and Professor Morgan laughs along with me.

“Thought so,” he says with a smile. “I made them turn in their briefs for this case in class this afternoon—to see if they’re still briefing or not now that they’re past their first semester of law school.”

“Probably good that you did. I remember my first year, a lot of people had already stopped briefing by the end of their first semester.”

“Which is why I decided to announce at the end that I’m collecting them so I can scare the fucking _shit_ out of them,” he says, his smile growing wider. And I can’t help but throw my head back as I laugh in return.

“And, ya know, I gotta check to see how good these case briefs are—it’s one thing to write a case brief, and another to have it be a shitty spindly piece of shit.”

My eyes widen and my jaw drops as I turn my head to look at him in complete shock. “My, Professor Morgan! _You_ have quite the mouth,” I tease with, my mouth that was in the shape of an o now becoming a wide smirk.

He lets out a loud, booming laugh at my reaction, and sets the case brief that was in his hand down. “Fuck, Calla, you got me there,” he replies with a smile as his laughter dies down.

Professor Morgan then turns back to the pile of papers, gripping it with one hand as he quickly runs through the stack with his thumb. Suddenly he plucks one out that’s in the middle, handing it to me. “Take a look, mark it up—tell me what you think as you do so,” he says, eyes on me, waiting for me to take it from him.

I blink as I gently hold onto the lower left corner of the paper, taking it from him, and place it on the table in front of me. Professor Morgan takes his red pen and slides it towards me, and I also grab that. I clear my throat and brush my hair off my shoulders and onto my back, and turn in my seat to face the table forward. I tilt my head down and look at the case brief, then grip it as I quickly flip the corners of the brief to see how many pages it is.

“Three pages, single spaced—it’s an English common law case from 1884, and the portion that’s in the textbook for Criminal Procedure to read for the case isn’t that long, so the brief shouldn’t be this long in the first place,” I say, but I don’t look over at him.

I pick the red pen off the table and take the cap off, placing it on the other end of the pen. I start at the top of the paper, reviewing the names of the plaintiff, defendant, appellant, and appellee.

“So far so good,” I say. “But that’s the easiest part of it.”

I move onto the case citation, and with my finger I carefully go over ever letter, space, and punctuation mark to make sure it’s formatted correctly. “Two spaces here when there should be one, and they placed the period that’s at the end inside of the parentheses instead of on the outside,” I also say, using my pen to make the appropriate corrections.

As I move onto the key facts, reading it, I suddenly feel his hot breath on the nape of my neck—I can hear his ragged breathing as he looks over my shoulder. He’s so close—he’s so close, as we sit together like this. My stomach burns, and my chest tightens. My face grows hot again.

_And I like it. I like this—this proximity._

_I wish we were closer._

But then I realize closer would be…

I internally shake my head, cursing myself out, telling myself to go back to focus on grading. And I somehow will myself to, despite the fact that I can feel his body just _so close_ to mind—despite the fact that how aware I am of this isn’t going away.

I use the tip of my thumb to help me concentrate as I read over the key facts. “They put some unnecessary details in this—looks like they literally typed up sections of the case verbatim,” I shake my head as I cross out sentences and words here and there, writing on the side “unnecessary” with the pen. After doing so, I move onto procedural history.

“Your handwriting,” Professor Morgan says, finally speaking up after all this time, “It’s beautiful.”

I turn my head towards him, blinking my eyes as I find that our faces are just five inches from one another—as I find that I can see nearly silver and white hairs in his beard—that I can see how bright the light brown mixed with the chocolate brown in his eyes are, which are staring back into mine.

I lick my lips, feeling how dry they are. I’m not sure what to say back—not sure what to do, because _I can’t look away._

_I can’t look away._

_I don’t know how to look away._

And… _I don’t **want** to look away. _

My lips part, and despite the fact that I think I found the right words to say, I’m not saying them. And his lips stay pressed together as he looks at me still— _why? Why are you still looking at me? Why don’t you look away already?_

And the way he’s looking at me—as if I’m the sun itself, but I’m glowing just enough as to not blind him from this close proximity.

“Thank you,” I barely say—I’m not even sure if he could hear me say that. I smile sheepishly, bringing my hand up to nervously rub the back of my neck. “I always thought it was too messy.”

He finally smiles, chuckling at my comment, and somehow seeing him smile like that makes my entire body relax, and makes me smile in return. “Messy? I hate to ask, Calla, but have you been paying attention in my lectures? Because every time I write on the board, my writing looks like complete _shit_.”

I giggle at him shaking my head. “Oh, it’s not _that_ bad now, Professor Morgan. If you just squint a little, it actually looks like beautiful cursive,” I tease, sticking my tongue out.

His hand nudges my shoulder as he smiles at me, and my smile fades—because when he touches me, even though it’s for that short second and I’m wearing a long-sleeve shirt, I feel that exact spot on my shoulder burn with great intensity. I feel lightening shoot from that spot through my collarbone and into my chest, that lightening making my heart beat impossibly faster.

“Keep going,” he urges me as he nudges my shoulder, and I quickly turn my head away, hoping he doesn’t see the blush on my cheeks that I know is most likely creeping onto my cheeks from his touch. I use my thumb once more to help me concentrate on what I’m reading and grading.

“Procedural is fine. But we’ll see how their rules and analysis hold up,” I say.

My eyes read over every word—every sentence that is placed down. There are five rules total, and as I go over each I can’t help but smile a bit as I notice how the person who made this brief organized the rules and constructed their analysis as to make each one that follows after the other build up the rationale of the case.

“Whatcha smiling about?” Professor Morgan asks, and I turn my head once again to look at him, finding that he’s also smiling at me.

“What?” I ask, biting down on my bottom lip as I smile. “A woman can’t smile without there being a reason?”

Professor Morgan chuckles. “Of course one can! But I bet there’s something making you smile like _that_.”

As my smile grows wider, I can feel my bottom lip slowly slipping away from being under my teeth. “And exactly _how_ am I smiling, Professor Morgan?” I ask innocently—perhaps _too_ innocently.

His tongue runs in between his lips, along his bottom one, before he grins even more. “Like a light bulb is going off in that little head of yours—like whoever made this case brief did something _real_ fucking well that you like.”

I press my lips together, trying to fight off the urge to smile, and I manage to keep them together despite the fact that my cheeks are rising, and that I can feel my eyes crinkling slightly. “You wanna know that bad, do you?”

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to, but I would like to know whatever is goin’ on up there,” he answers, taping the tip of his index finger on the side of his head.

I sigh and start to smile, turning my head back to the paper. “See the rules and analysis?” I say, using the cap-side of the pen to point out where I’m talking about to him.

Professor Morgan only leans closer, sitting on the edge of his seat and stretching his body out more. I can feel his torso pressing against the side of my body, and his head is completely next to mine, just a mere two inches away from touching mine. “Yeah, what about it?” he asks, and I can feel his eyes glance over to mine despite the fact that I can’t see them.

“Well, if you read through them, you’ll notice that they formatted the order of the rules to have each one that proceeds the other build off the ruling, and have their analysis build off _both_ the prior analysis _and_ rules.” I can feel myself grinning from ear-to-ear as I say this—as I look down where I’m pointing at with the pen for him to read.

He’s silent for a few moments, most likely because he’s reading I’m sure. And then he speaks up.

“Not many students do that,” Professor Morgan says, “when really the best case briefs usually do this.”

I look to him out of the corner of my eye, too afraid to turn my head because I’m not sure exactly how close our faces would be. “Really? I started doing it halfway through the first semester of my first year, and have been since. I thought it was normal to…”

“You’ll be surprised as to how many third years—hell even _lawyers_ —don’t know how to fucking make a _case brief_ even,” Professor Morgan says.

I finally will myself to turn my head—finally will myself to look at him. And when I do I find that he’s smiling slightly at me, his face closer than before to mine. I watch as his smile fades—as he presses his lips together, eyes growing serious. I can’t help but look back at him with my wide eyes, too stuck in this moment—unsure of what to do in this moment.

_I can’t look away._

_I don’t know how to look away._

_I don’t **want** to look away._

“Calla.”

I blink my eyes and lift my brows. “Hmm?” I ask. And for a second I glance down, and then glance back up into his eyes.

But when I do glance down, I notice that he has his hands in his lap, fingers intertwined, gripping each other so hard that his skin is pale, and his thumbs are fidgeting with one another. _He’s struggling just as much as I am._

I’m not sure if that brings me relief or makes the matter even worse for me—I’m not sure at all.

“What grade would you give this brief?”

I furrow my brow in thought, and then I turn in my computer chair to face him. Our knees bump against one another, completely pressed together along with our toes, and our shins are slightly touching. I find myself wanting to intertwine our calves—wanting to hook my legs with his, and reach out and lace his fingers with mine while my thumbs trace circles in his palms.

But I can’t. _I can’t._

“Despite getting the punctuation and spacing wrong with the citation, and adding unnecessary information in the key facts, I’d say…a 90 is fair.”

“Why?”

I blink my eyes, looking at him with confusion on my face.

“Why a 90, I mean? When they’ve messed up with that? As opposed to, maybe an 85?”

I swallow, and I drum my fingers against my knees in thought. And then the answer comes to mind.

“Because despite how much red ink I may have dumped on that brief, they’re still very minor mistakes. Too much information is better than so little information you can’t even piece together what the case is about or who the defendant and plaintiff are. Getting the citation wrong, that’s normal for a first year law student—telling the difference between one versus two spaces on a word doc you’ve been staring at for a while is hard.”

I pause, licking my lips, not sure if I should add this next bit. But I do anyway.

“And because even though they’re learning more than they ever have in their entire lives as first year law students, they’re going to make mistakes. They’re nowhere _near_ the level of a second or third year student. You only learn by being wrong and making mistakes in law school—and you can’t…you just can’t be so ridiculously fucking hard on them, otherwise they’ll lose all hope before they even finish their first year.”

He’s looking at me like he’s in awe—like he’s truly struck by my answer.

“I-I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have given that much—“ I stammer.

“No! Don’t be!” Professor Morgan immediately cuts me off, raising his hands up. He presses his palms together, and I see his eyes soften as he looks into mine still. “I never thought…I never thought about being _too_ hard on them would do that. I always thought it would give them more motivation to work harder so they could be better, not that it would…”

I nod my head, and I see his brow crease. “I know. With most law school students being Type-A, that’s the normal reaction to being hard. But the normal reaction to also being relentlessly hard, to any person, is to lose hope and want to give up. But I think they know—that _all_ of us know—that your intentions are nothing but good.”

And I hope that when I say this, he can tell I’m being genuine—that he can tell from the look in my eyes as I look into his soft gaze.

“Thank you, for saying that,” he nods. “I just want you all to be the best attorneys possible. It’s about helping your client the most you can at the end of the day, no matter what field of law you go into.”

And I nod my head, too. “I know. And you’re doing a good job, Professor Morgan.”

My hands grip my lower thighs, and I find that I want to hug him—that I want to reach out and hug him. Because as I look at him, I realize just how much his work truly does mean to him—how much being a professor is important to him—how much of his heart and soul he puts into this profession.

This time, I don’t fight the urge.

This time, I don’t.

I take the risk.

I stand up a bit from my seat, knees slightly bent, and I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him in. I’m not sure what to do—not sure if I should wait for him to react before pulling away, or to just pull away right now.

But before I get a choice, his arms are circling around my waist, pulling me closer to him—his arms are pulling me into his lap as he grips me tight.

As he pulls me into his lap, my bottom half is slightly turned so my legs can hang off the side, but the rest of me is facing him, my entire torso pressed tightly against his. I rest my chin on his shoulder, and close my eyes.

I feel my breath hitch in my throat—I feel my chest grow tight and my breathing ragged as my heart races—and I feel through our chests pressed against one another his own heart beating rapidly. I feel his cheek press to mine, the hair surrounding his lips pricking my skin pleasantly, as he slightly turns his head to mine. I feel his hot breath hit my neck, and I feel my body tremble slightly in response. And when I do, his arms only grip me tighter, and I can’t help but also tighten my arms around him.

I find that I like how soft his skin is against mine—that I like how his beard gently scrapes and pricks against my skin—that his breathing is ragged just like my own—that he isn’t letting go, because _I don’t know how to, because I don’t **want** to._

“Are you okay, Professor Morgan?” I ask in a whisper, my lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“ _Mhm_ ,” he says, making his chest vibrate against mine, and I feel lightening strike me there. “Thank you, Calla.”

I open my eyes now, unsure as to why he’s saying this.

“For what?” I ask, still not turning to look at him—still not pulling away. And he’s not either.

“Understanding—for…trusting, I guess.”

I furrow my brow, and I begin to wonder where this is coming from—what hidden place within his heart and mind all of this is coming from. It’s when I close my eyes that I realize.

Because he’s been known as the most difficult professor here since he started—because he’s stricken the fear into all of the first years so hard with Contracts by being so hard with his expectations and all he needs them to memorize verbatim that…that he’s probably made a few lose all hope, and quit their dream.

“It’s okay, Professor Morgan. It’s okay.”

I hold onto him longer—I slip one hand behind his head, holding him firmly there as I bury my fingers into his locks of hair, feeling how soft and silky they are against my skin. And as I do, I feel him press the side of his face further into mine—feel his arms drop from my waist down to around my hips, holding me tight. And as we hold onto each other longer, for an amount of time I’m not sure of, I feel the slow of my breathing, heart, and chest—I feel his slow down, as well, our chests rising and falling nearly in sync.

And then his grip on me loosens, and his hands begin to run from the middle of my lower back along it until they’ve reached the back of my hips. He straightens his head so his face is no longer pressed to mine.

So I let my fingers slip out of his hair, and I pull my arms back to my body. As I climb out of his lap and stand up, I feel his hands that are on the back of my hips still slowly slip off—palms first, pinkies, thumbs, ring fingers, middle fingers, and finally the tips of his index fingers.

My head is completely tilted down as I look at him, and his is completely titled up looking at me.

I sigh, my eyes glancing to the floor. “I should probably get going.”

He doesn’t reply for a moment, but in the meantime I hear his watch shift on his skin as he flicks his wrist to check the time.

“ _Shit, fuck_ —it’s 10:30 already,” Professor Morgan curses, standing up suddenly. I lift my gaze to look at him as he turns to the table, gathering the case briefs back into a neat stack, and places them inside his messenger bag.

“ _Shit_ , did time really go by _that_ fast?!” I ask, walking quickly away from the front of the classroom and up the steps of the aisle. I walk down my row to where my packed backpack is on the counter where my seat is. I take it and sling it over my right shoulder, turn back around, and walk down the aisle steps to the front of the classroom.

“ _Fuck,_ I know, right?” Professor Morgan laughs as I do this, and he lifts his messenger bag and places it on his shoulder.

“Well, you know what they say,” I reply as I walk towards the front of the door, and he does too.

“And what may that be?” I don’t have to look at him to know that he’s probably smirking, considering how his voice sounded when he said that…oh god, how his voice sounded slightly flirty.

I place my hand on the handle, but I don’t turn it. Instead, I turn my head and look at him. He’s standing directly behind me, the front of his body brushing against the back of mine. I’m looking at up at him while he looks down at me, and once more I’m faced with just how close we are to each other—just how _nice_ it feels to be like this, how warm my body feels with his body barely touching mine like this.

“Time flies when you’re _having fun_ ,” I run my tongue slowly over my lips as they curl into a smile. I turn my head away, and I press down on the door handle. And as I do so, I stop because one of his large hands comes on top of my small hand.

I turn my head to look back at him.

“And did you have fun, _Miss Villanueva_?” he asks in a low, low whisper, leaning into me when he does.

I swallow, trying to calm myself—but it’s nearly impossible to with his warm, large hand on top of mine like this, our skin finally touching—with the front of his body grazing against the side of mine—with his breath hitting my throat and ear as he leans in to whisper this.

My eyes glance down at his lips, seeing him lick them for a second, before I look back into his eyes.

I can’t help but wonder how it would feel to kiss him—for our lips to mold together while his facial hair rubs pleasantly against my skin. I can’t help but wonder how it’d feel if he were to press me against the wall right now, pin my hands above my head, press all of his body against mine, and capture my bottom lip between his to suck on.

“I did,” I say in a whisper, “And did you, _Professor Morgan_?”

His lips curl into a smile, with the left corner pulled slightly higher than the right. I see that mischievous glint in his eyes from earlier reappear. And I feel his breath hit my skin once more.

“I really did,” he replies. His hand slowly slips off mine, his palm and one finger at a time just like before. And once the tip of his index finger finally leaves my skin, I pull the door, holding it open for him.

Professor Morgan walks ahead, and I follow after him, letting the door close behind me as we walk down the hallway together. We remain in complete silence—as if none of that even happened at all—as if nothing ever happened at all—as we walk down the hallway, down the stairwell, through the first floor of the building—as we walk out the building and through campus till we make it to the parking garage.

“Which floor did you park on?” he asks.

I look over to him as I rub my hands up and down my upper arms, shivering from the cold. “Third floor, you?” I ask, seeing my breath visible in the cold, night air.

“Same,” he says, looking over to me. I notice him bite his lip as we walk up the flight of stairs.

“Cold?” Professor Morgan asks with a small smile, and I nod in return.

“I left my coat in my car like the idiot that I am,” I laugh. “I’ll just put the heat on blast once I’m inside.”

I wish he could wrap an arm around me and pull me in against him as we walk up the stairs to the third floor in this parking garage, but I know he can’t. I know he can’t do that. Earlier, it was fine considering at this time no one is at all in that building and class had long been over. But here—out in the open…

“I’ll make sure on Monday that you remembered to bring your coat,” he chuckles, and I giggle a bit with him.

We climb up the three flights of stairs till we step onto the third floor, and the lights on the floor flicker on sensing our movement. The entire floor is nearly empty, except for a couple of cars spread throughout. My car is parked a few spaces down from where we are luckily.

“Which one do you drive?” I ask curiously, turning my head up to look at him.

Professor Morgan begins to smile, laughing at my question. “Believe it or not…”

My eyes follow his direction as he points to the motorcycle that’s just a couple of parking spaces to the left of my car, and once I see it my face lights up. He looks over to me to see my reaction and grins from ear-to-ear when he sees that I have a shocked smile on my face with my jaw dropped, and my eyes are wide.

“No fucking way!” I say and giggle a bit. “ _You_?!”

“That’s what they all said at last year’s faculty party, which was my first one,” Professor Morgan laughs. “They all thought I was too old to be riding a motorcycle.”

I shake my head as I wrap my arms around my body to keep me warm. “Too old? More like jealous,” I tease, sticking my tongue out, and he laughs yet again.

“Which one is _yours_?”

I point over to my itty bitty car—my 2011 Toyota Corola, that’s a dark metallic grey. “I’m parked just a few spots away from you!” I flash him a smile.

“Well, how about that? Talk about a coincidence,” Professor Morgan smiles. He motions forward with lifting his head up a bit. “C’mon.”

Him and I walk together until we get to my car, and I take the keys out of my backpack and unlock it. As I reach for the door handle, he beats me to it, his large hand grabbing and pulling it completely open for me. I look over to him, narrowing my eyes as I slip my backpack off.

“You know you didn’t have to do that,” I say.

“Can’t you just thank me for being the gentleman that I am?” Professor Morgan smirks, and I laugh and shake my head at him.

I place my backpack on my passenger seat and turn towards him—the door is still open, and he’s leaning against it with his arms folded and resting on top of it.

“Get home safe, alright? No risky shit.”

“Same goes to you, considering _you’re_ the one driving a motorcycle,” I say, and we both smile. “And don’t work too hard grading! You have to make sure to have some time to enjoy yourself,” I add as I climb into my seat.

“Doll, I _always_ make time for pleasure,” Professor Morgan says with a wide smile before shutting the door, turning and walking away from me and to his motorcycle.

I put my seatbelt on and start up my car, then reach over and put the heat on full blast considering how _freezing cold_ this thing is.

By the time I put my car in reverse and turn my head to make sure no one is coming, I notice that he’s already left.

_“Doll, I **always** make time for pleasure.” _

And that repeats in my mind the entire drive home. 

_I **always** make time for pleasure._

* * *

_Baby, come light me up—and maybe I’ll let you on it._


	5. Focus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 27 single-spaced pages.  
> TWENTY  
> SEVEN  
> I can't believe that...honestly. What's wrong with me? Lol.  
> I stopped this chapter halfway through what I had planned in the outline because, honestly, if I would have written everything I planned in the outline for this chapter it'd wind up being 50 single-spaced pages long.  
> So the rest of what I had for chapter three is going to be the entirety of chapter four. And I anticipate writing and finishing chapter four by late Saturday evening, at the very earliest.  
> I wasn't even supposed to have written chapter three, let alone finish and be posting it, but I really couldn't contain myself. So here it is!

_9:30 P.M._

_Been waiting and waiting for you to make a move…_

I slip into my own world as my students leave my classroom, too focused on grading the case briefs for my Criminal Law course to even pick up on what they’re saying as they walk out in pairs or small groups together. None bother to come up and ask me a question before leaving, so I remained as focused as I can on grading these so I can manage to get some sleep tonight, and not spend my entire weekend grading alone.

Eventually, after the last few leave talking amongst each other, silence fills the classroom. And even though their shared words had become background noise that wasn’t distracting to me, I still can’t help but feel as though I can focus better now that they’re gone—now that it’s completely silent.

Until moments later, when I hear a pair of footsteps in the room, followed by her voice.

I lift my head up, both brows raised, as I peer at her from behind my glasses. I lift my head up just in time to see her descending down the aisle steps, long, lean, and curvy legs outlined by her tight and dark skinny jeans. I lift my head up just in time to see her taking one step at a time, head slightly tilted down, eyes glancing downward so I can see those lashes of hers, floral blouse swaying with her hips, those luscious curls bouncing with every step she takes.

“Are you staying late?” she asks after taking the final step, looking at me.

I sigh as I lean back in my chair and cross my legs. “Probably for another half hour before I take these home.”

She extends out a leg, taking one of her usual long strides as she begins to walk over to where I sit at the table in the front of the classroom, and her eyes are still locked with mine. “Do you mind me asking what you’re grading?”

“Not at all. They’re case briefs for my Criminal Law class,” I reply with a smile. “Wanna take a look?” I ask as I grab the one I had just began to review and grade, lifting it up in the air.

And I’m hoping she says yes—I’m hoping she does, so she can stay just a little longer.

Just a little bit longer.

Calla takes one last step, stopping and standing in front of the table I’m currently seated at. She smiles and nods her head. “If you insist,” she replies, and I chuckle a bit in return.

I look to my side for a brief moment, seeing the computer chair next to me, and turn my head back to her. “C’mon, take a seat, Calla,” I say as I pat the cushion of the chair.

She walks around the table with just a few steps and then slides into the seat, sitting up and scooting the chair closer to the table. As she does so I unfold my legs and plant my feet on the ground. I move my chair closer to hers, and as I do so I can see her turn her head to look at me from the corner of my eye. I stop once I’m sitting completely at her side, the wheels of our chairs touching, as well as our upper arms. I turn my head to her, seeing her in this new way—seeing her sitting so close beside me.

“You remember _R. v. Dudley and Stephens_ , right?” I ask.

Calla tilts her head up a bit so she’s able to look at me. I watch as her face lights up with recognition and enthusiasm, and I can’t help but smile in return. “Of course! How can _anyone_ forget not only an English common law case, but a case on _cannibalism_?!” she giggles, and I laugh along with her.

I can’t help but enjoy the sound of her laugh—how adorable, and girlish it sounds. It’s not an obnoxious, trying too hard to sound like a little tiny girl, kind of “hehe,” but one that comes naturally without her realizing it, that’s somehow mixed in with what a real laugh of a woman sounds like. If that even makes sense at all.

But regardless, just know that I like it—that I like the sound of her laugh—like the way she smiles as she does so.

“Thought so,” I reply with a grin. “I made them turn in their briefs for this case in class this afternoon—to see if they’re still briefing or not now that they’re past their first semester of law school.”

“Probably good that you did. I remember my first year, a lot of people had already stopped briefing by the end of their first semester.”

“Why is why I decided to announce at the end that I’m collecting them so I can scare the fucking _shit_ out of them,” I say, my smile growing wider. I watch as she throws her head back in laughter, her thick and tight curls moving with her, and she brings a hand to her chest.

“And, ya know, I gotta check to see how good these are—it’s one thing to write a case brief, and another to have it be a shitty spindly piece of shit,” I add. I watch as her eyes completely widen in return—as her jaw drops while she smiles wildly at me, and I only smirk in return.

“My, Professor Morgan! _You_ have quite the mouth,” Calla says, smirking back at me. I’m brought back to earlier, when I told her the same thing, and can’t help but let out a loud and booming laugh. _Fuck_ , this woman…

As my laugh dies down I set the case brief on the table. “Fuck, Calla, you got me there,” I smile.

I quickly turn back to the pile of papers on the table and grip it with one hand, while my thumb runs through the stack. I pluck one out from somewhere in the middle and hand it to her. “Take a look, mark it up—tell me what you think as you do so,” I tell her, eyes on her, waiting for her to take the brief from me.

She blinks, her hand slowly lifting up towards mine, gently holding onto the lower left corner of the paper as she also slowly takes that from me, and places it on the table in front of her. I take my red pen that I had been using before and slide it towards her on the table, my eyes leaving her for just a second to watch as she grabs that and places it next to the case brief. I look back to her when I hear her clear her throat, and I watch as she brushes her locks of hair off her shoulders. She turns away from me in her seat to face the table and her head tilts down, looking at the case brief. She grabs the upper right corner of the document and quickly flips the corners of it, clearly counting how many pages it is.

“Three pages, single-spaced—it’s it’s an English common law case from 1884, and the portion that’s in the textbook for Criminal Procedure to read for the case isn’t that long, so the brief shouldn’t be this long in the first place,” she says, but doesn’t look in my direction.

Her long, thin fingers pick up the red pen off the table and take the cap off, placing it on the other end of the pen. Calla sets one hand down on the wooden table next to the brief, her fingers spread apart, while she leans in and looks at the brief. Although I can only see her profile, I can see her eyes moving from right to left as she reads over everything.

“So far so good. But that’s the easiest part of it,” she says, and I glance down as I notice where her thumb is on the page—just dropping down next to the citation.

I lean in a bit closer, sitting on the edge of my seat, hovering over her. My eyes flicker up to her profile from the case brief, taking in her reaction—wanting to make sure this is okay—that how close I am is okay. And she doesn’t flinch. But I notice her glance at me for a brief second before looking back, telling me it’s okay— _that being this close is okay._

I don’t look back down, and instead look at her. There were two reasons I asked her to grade this one, (1) because I’m intrigued by her thought process—how she conceptualizes everything so easily and fast, and (2) because I just wanted her to…stay.

Believe it or not, the former reason was the main reason for why I asked. But I find myself not regretting asking her to for the latter one—with us sitting so close like this…

I go back to looking at the brief, having to move in closer to her so I can see better—even though I’m wearing my glasses, I still can’t see for shit unless I’m close. My head hovers over her shoulder as I look down, watching eagerly.

“They put some unnecessary details in this—looks like they literally typed up sections of the case verbatim,” Calla says as she shakes her head, and she crosses out sentences and words throughout the entire key facts section with the red pen, and even takes the time to write “unnecessary” on the side. She moves the tip of the pen down to the procedural history now.

But I can’t help but look at that one word—just that one word on the side. How it’s a mix of both print and cursive—the end of the “u” curling into and forming the n’s which are both in cursive, how her e’s curl, as well.

“Your handwriting,” I say, my voice low, “It’s beautiful.”

Calla turns her head towards me, and I glance at her now. I find how close our faces are—how we’re mere inches apart. I can make out the freckles on those sharp cheeks of hers—can see the amber surrounding her irises clearly from this proximity. And she’s looking at me with wide eyes, with her cheeks flushed. I swallow as I see her lick her lips, noticing that her lipstick today matches the exact shade of pink her cheeks have turned in this moment.

_I wonder how soft they feel—how her thick lower lip would feel in between mine…_

I take a sharp breath in, shaking that thought off. No—not now. _Fuck, I can’t right now._

Her lips part, and she’s still looking at me with those doe eyes, locked still on mine. Her entire body is sitting up right and straight, muscles frozen, as if on guard of the next thing I’m going to say or do—and I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

I can’t help but feel nervous—feel my blood grow hot because of this—because I just want to reach my hands up and cup her cheeks, run my thumbs over her high cheekbones while she stares at me like that. _Say something—please, just say something…_

“Thank you,” she says in a small whisper with a smile, and her hand goes up to the back of her neck. “I always thought it was too messy.”

I smile back at her in return, _and I can’t look away—I can’t look away._ _I don’t **want** to look away. _So I watch as her entire body now relaxes after I smile, and her smile grows wider in return.

“Messy? I hate to ask, Calla, but have you been paying attention in my lectures? Because every time I write on the board, my writing looks like complete _shit_ ,” I scoff.

She giggles, and it’s that same laugh I like—the same one that’s a mix of a little girl, with an adult woman enjoying herself—that’s flirtatious, a bit mysterious, and just so… _happy_. Happy.

“Oh, it’s not _that_ bad now bad now, Professor Morgan. If you just squint a little, it actually looks like beautiful cursive,” she sticks her tongue at me.

I don’t think about it—I don’t once think about it as I lift my hand up and playfully nudge her shoulder while smiling at her, and say, “Keep going.”

And then her smile fades.

 _I shouldn’t have done that—oh, fuck, I shouldn’t have fucking done that. What the hell were you thinking?_ I think to myself, my own smile disappearing as I mentally scold myself.

But as she quickly turns away from me, and I notice the bright blush on her round cheeks, I’m able to let out a sigh internally. Maybe she did like that—maybe it was okay.

I look down at the paper, seeing her use her thumb now, her sharp nail under each word as it moves across the paper while she reads.

“Procedural is fine. But we’ll see how their rules and analysis hold up.”

I continue to watch her read as she goes from one rule, to the analysis for that rule, to the next. And I find that she’s all _too_ quiet. So I look back to her once more, expecting to find her intently reading.

When, really, she’s grinning from ear-to-ear.

And this is a smile I’ve seen in class before—a smile of recognition—one she has at least once per class, which is matched with a light sparking in her eyes. I’ve found that it’s my favorite smile of hers—when she looks the most beautiful, because you can see the gears working in that head of hers—you can literally see the light bulb go off, and how eager she gets over that as she keeps whatever it is to herself for no one else to know, because that smile will then turn into a mischievous one while her are eyes are filled with excitement.

“Whatcha smiling about?” I ask with a smile, and when she turns her head to look at me, I wiggle my eyebrows playfully at her.

“What?” Calla asks, biting down on her bottom lip as she continues to smile. “A woman can’t smile without there being a reason?”

I chuckle and my smile only widens. “Of course one can! But I bet there’s something making you smile like _that_.”

And Calla’s smile only grows impossibly bigger, and I can’t help but notice as that plump bottom lip of hers begins to slowly slip away from being under her teeth. _Oh, fuck, is that sexy._

“And exactly _how_ am I smiling, Professor Morgan?” she asks, her voice so innocent and sweet—and I know what game she’s playing with me.

I run my tongue in between my lips and along my bottom one, trying to gain back any little control I have left—what, with her looking at me like that—with her biting down on her lip like that with _that smile_.

“Like a light bulb is going off in that little head of yours—like whoever made this case brief did something _real_ fucking well that you like.”

Now she presses her thick, pink lips together. I can see the edges of her eyes crinkling, and her cheeks somewhat risen, telling me she’s clearly trying to fight off the urge to smile because she knows I’m damn fucking right.

“You wanna know that bad, do you?” she asks lowly.

“You don’t don’t have to share if you don’t want to, but I would like to know whatever is goin’ on up there,” I answer, taping the tip of my index finger on the side of my head.

Calla sighs and starts to smile, turning back to the paper. “See the rules and analysis?” she asks, using the cap-side of the pen to point out where she’s talking about.

I lean closer, sitting as far out on the edge of my seat as possible, stretching my body out more so I can actually read what she’s pointing at. The chest gently presses up against the side of her body, and I take note as I lean in closer just how soft yet firm her body feels. My face is inevitably closer to hers—much closer than earlier—as I read over her shoulder what she’s directing my attention to.

I wonder if she feels it, too—how _nice_ it feels being like this…just us, like this, in this empty classroom, so late at night…

“Well, if you read through them, you’ll notice that they formatted the order of the rules to have each one that proceeds the other build off the ruling, and have their analysis build off _both_ the prior analysis _and_ rules.”

I glance to her as she says this, seeing that huge grin resurface as she talks. I stay silent for a few moments after she finishes, looking back down at the paper and rereading the rules and analysis.

“Not many students do that,” I take note, “when really the best case briefs usually do this.”

I turn my head slightly towards her to look at her again, and I notice her looking at me from the corner of her eyes. “Really?! I started doing it halfway through the first semester of my first year, and have been since. I thought it was normal to…”

“You’ll be surprised as to how many third years—hell even _lawyers_ —don’t know how to fucking make a _case brief_ even,” I say.

Calla finally turns her head and looks at me—and when she does, I’m smiling at her. I can’t help it—can’t help but smile as I get to look at her while being up this close—as I get to see nearly every beautiful detail of her skin, warm chocolate eyes, the blush on her round cheeks that matches the shade of lipstick she’s adorning on her plump lips.

But my smile begins to fade slowly—begins to fade as I press my lips together, and she looks back at me with those same wide, doe eyes.

I freeze up, unsure of what to do. Because everything in my body is screaming at me to lean in, take her face in my hands, and capture her lips in between mine—to bury a hand in those thick, tight curls of hers—to finally learn myself what she tastes like…

I wonder if she’s frozen, too—if that’s why she doesn’t look away from me, and only looks at me with that same expression from earlier when we were frozen just like this before, but this time _closer._

_Much closer._

And _I can’t look away._

_I don’t know how to look away from her—from her like this—from us like this._

_I don’t **want** to look away._

“Calla.”

I say it in a low whisper, finally breaking this silence.

She blinks her eyes, yet they’re still just as wide as before, and she also lifts her brows. “Hmm?” she asks, and for a moment her eyes glance down before looking back up into mine.

I swallow as I grasp my hands together, as my thumbs idly rub one another. My throat grows tight, and I suddenly feel how dry my lips are, too. I want to run my tongue over them, to at least moisten them for a bit, but I know I can’t—not with how she’s looking at me like this…

And I can’t help but match her same expression, my eyes wide, too.

“What grade would you give this brief?” I finally manage, my eyes returning to regular size, and my thumbs finally stop moving. I feel like I can breathe again—if just a little.

Her brow creases and furrows at my question, and I watch as she completely turns in her computer chair to face me. Our knees bump against one another, and are completely pressed together along with our toes as she comes to a stop. Our shins are slightly touching, and as she looks up at me, the muscles in her face completely relaxing, I find that I want to hook my legs around hers and pull her into my lap—wrap my arms around her as she falls easily into my lap, tossing her head back with laughter, for me to bring one hand to her face and affectionately run it over her cheek, causing her to grow quiet as I smile at her before kissing one another.

But I can’t. _I can’t._

“Despite getting the punctuation and spacing wrong with the citation, and adding unnecessary information in the key facts, I’d say…a 90 is fair.”

“Why?”

I ask it without hesitation—with my brow creased, my lips in a straight line. She only blinks her eyes at me, clearly confused.  
“Why a 90, I mean? When they’ve messed up with that? As opposed to, maybe an 85?” I clarify.

She takes a moment to think before answering my question.

“Because despite how much red ink I may have dumped on that brief, they’re still very minor mistakes. Too much information is better than so little information you can’t even piece together what the case is about or who the defendant and plaintiff are. Getting the citation wrong, that’s normal for a first year law student—telling the difference between one versus two spaces on a word doc you’ve been staring at for a while is hard.”

She pauses, licking her lips, and I can tell she’s hesitating—that she wants to say more. And I look at her in anticipation of the rest of her answer—because I know there’s much more to it.

And I have a feeling as to where the rest of that answer goes.

““And because even though they’re learning more than they ever have in their entire lives as first year law students, they’re going to make mistakes. They’re nowhere _near_ the level of a second or third year student. You only learn by being wrong and making mistakes in law school—and you can’t…you just can’t be so ridiculously fucking hard on them, otherwise they’ll lose all hope before they even finish their first year.”

As she says this—as she continues to spill each word out of her mouth so quickly, I can’t help but glazer over, my eyes widening as I do so. Because I can’t help be brought back to that day—to that day, and the one that followed after, just last school year…

“I-I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have given that much—“ Calla stammers, and I’m brought back to reality.

“No! Don’t be!” I immediately cut her off, raising my hands up. I press my palms together and try to collect my thoughts—try to figure out as fast as possible how to reply.

And somehow I do, but it’s not…I didn’t want to go here. I didn’t plan on that at all.

But I know I have to.

“I never thought…I never thought about being _too_ hard on them would do that. I always thought it would give them more motivation to work harder so they could be better, not that it would…”

Calla nods her head at me, and I look back up into her eyes. “I know. With most law school students being Type-A, that’s the normal reaction to being hard. But the normal reaction to also being relentlessly hard, to any person, is to lose hope and want to give up. But I think they know—that _all_ of us know—that your intentions are nothing but good.”

I bring my hands back down to my lap, squeezing them together as tight as possible. Because I can feel my face grow hot—my eyes begin to burn as I hear her say all of that.

Because as she says it, her eyes are glowing—her brow is creased, and her voice is soft and low. I can hear it in her voice—see it in her face—that she’s being genuine, and that these are her _true_ thoughts.

But I feel myself growing flustered and unsure, because I know she was implying how my students perceive me before she apologized—because she was referring to _my_ reputation and no other professors at all, because I’m the only one known to be like that at this law school…

I swallow, and as my eyes burn more I try to keep myself from tearing up, despite how much my chest aches right now.

I finally nod my head now, but I’m not looking at her. I can’t bring myself to. “Thank you, for saying that. I just want you all to be the best attorneys possible. It’s about helping your client the most you can at the end of the day, no matter what field of law you go into.”

And I say it genuinely, too—I say it from the heart—from deep in the back of my mind that I have never let any other faculty member, let alone a student, into.

I think she can tell that, too. I think she can tell as she nods her head and says, “I know. And you’re doing a good job, Professor Morgan.”

She’s so… _god._ She’s so genuine, and honest—so caring, and sweet—so beautiful, and intelligent—so… _so…_

I try and find the words to respond with—fishing desperately through my mind to string those words together.

But I don’t have a chance to. Not as I blink my eyes, surprised as I see her stand up from her seat, bending her knees a bit, wrapping her arms around my neck, pulling me into her petite body.

I know she can’t see my face like this—can’t see how wide my eyes are, how my lips are parted, as I figured out what to do and say.

But this time, I don’t fight the urge—I don’t fight the urge.

This time, I don’t.

I take the risk, because she took it too—because we’ve now officially entered unchartered territory, for the both of us.

I let go of my hands and raise my arms up, circling them around her waist, pulling her in closer to me—pulling her slowly and gently into my lap so I can grip her tighter.

I feel as she settles on top of me so easily and gracefully—so _naturally_. I feel her legs swing over me so they can hang off to the side, giving me more access to her body which is turned into mine. I press my torso to hers, and I feel her settle into me as I do so—feel her tiny chin rest on my shoulder.

And I close my eyes and slowly inhale, trying to will my increasing heart rate to slow down. When I do breathe in, I pick up on a hint of her scent— _vanilla and cinnamon._ I close my eyes as I relish in the smell of her—in the feel of her petite and small body in my arms, pressed against my much larger frame—in how soft she feels, yet firm all at the same time.

I can’t help but lean into her, pressing the side of my cheek against hers. I’m welcomed with the feel of her sharp, yet round cheekbone against mine—the feel of her soft and delicate skin against mine. I inhale deeply again. _Vanilla and cinnamon._

And I’m brought back in this moment, as I exhale through my nostrils and her scent temporarily leaves my senses, to that day and the day that followed last school year.

********************************************************

** Fall Semester 2015, Week 5 **

_4:55 P.M., Monday_

I shift my leather bag that’s hanging on my shoulder as I walk to my office considering how heavy it is today, unlike most days. Because I’m teaching Contracts this semester, and I have a lot of students who have signed up for appointments during my office hours today, I have to have all the books on me for once so we can go over doctrine and cases.

I bring my to-go coffee up to my lips, taking a sip as I walk down the hallway on the 2nd floor, making my way to the door that leads to the corridor my office is in. Considering how little sleep I got (yet again) last night, fuck do I need to inhale this so I can be my usual, energetic and quick self in my Contracts class tonight.

It’s as I do take a drink from my coffee, that I finally get to the door that leads to the corridor my office is tucked away in, that I hear three voices around the corner. I stop right by the door, about to grab the handle, when I stop myself.

I’m not one for eavesdropping, but I recognize these voices—and I recognize the main girl’s voice.

Because all three are from my class, and the one doing most of the talking is a girl I call on quite often in class.

_But how does one love and what does one do—_

“I can’t do this anymore—I can’t,” she says, her voice shaky.

“Oh, c’mon Williams! You’re one of _the_ top people in our class, and Professor Morgan knows it. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” another voice says.

“You don’t get it—I just _can’t_ do this. I don’t think I’m made for law school.”

As she says this, I can tell from her voice that she’s crying—I can hear her whimpering, and stuttering over her words as she does so. I wonder how shaken up she is.

“Why? You’re so good, though,” the third voice now chimes in.

“Do you realize how much we have to memorize?! That’s over one hundred Restatements and UCC’s! And they’re so goddamn long. And if you don’t, you basically can’t at least get a passing grade for the class because you need to have it memorized for the final. I Just I-I-“

She stops, and I hear her break into a loud sob. I pick up on a couple of faint footsteps, followed by the sound of that sob becoming muffled, telling me most likely the two girls are hugging her.

“And Professor Morgan—he—he—“

“I know…I know, Williams. He’s so fucking…” the second girl tries to continue, hesitating herself.

“Hard—unnecessarily relentless—a fucking _asshole_ ,” the third one finishes, and all three giggle a bit. But then I can hear her sobbing and sniffling still.

“If law school is supposed to be _this_ difficult, I don’t think I’m cut for it—I don’t think I can do this…”

_—when the dream that you have doesn’t want to pick you?_

And I open the door, walking into this next hallway, take a right turn, and walk all the way down to the end where my office is, the last one, unlock my door, turn the lights on, get in and settle for the next two minutes I have before my first appointment arrives. I decide to do this right after she says this, trying to push it to the back of my mind as I take all of the books out of my bag.

One minute later, there’s a knock on my door, and I turn away from my desktop to see my student standing in my open doorway. “Hi, Professor Morgan,” she says.

It’s the second girl, I realize by the sound of her voice—the one who was just out there…

“C’mon in.”

**************************************************

_8:37 P.M._

_Room 227, Contracts_

“Once again, when you’re reading a case or once you’re given a fact pattern on a test or exam, _always_ make sure to ask yourself if there’s even a contract before moving forward. Ask yourself if the three essential ingredients of a contract are there, which are…” my eyes glance around the large room filled with forty of my students, “Stanley!” I cold call, as I always do throughout the entire class. This is the one class I cold call on the most, usually once every few minutes or so, and somehow it always catches them off guard.

“Um,” he says, swallowing, looking at me like a dear in headlights from where he sits all the way in the back right corner, “Mutual manifestation of assent; bargain for exchange of consideration; and specific certainty.”

I nod my head, “Good.” And now I’m looking around the classroom yet again like a hawk. I see all of their eyes looking down at their notebooks, scribbling away, obviously trying to avoid my gaze so they won’t get called on.

“Williams! What’s the definition of offer?”

I look at her—this incredibly young woman, with dirty blonde hair, who sits in the middle row in the middle seat of my classroom, making her completely in the center. Her blue eyes are cast down as she thinks of what to say while avoiding my gaze.

“Umm, um…” she looks up at me, and I’m met as I always am in each class with her youthful face. I learned just last week how old she is, which caught me off guard considering she looks much younger than that—that she’s twenty-two and fresh out of undergrad, making her the youngest in her entering class, while the rest of her appears are twenty-six and older.

“A-An offer is…umm…” she continues to stammer. I lean against the whiteboard with my arms crossed.  
“C’mon, I know you got this, Williams,” I try and encourage her, while trying not to be too soft.

“It’s…um…a manifestation of…willingness....”

I see her look at me, as if trying to ask me with her eyes if she’s on the right track, and I nod my head.

She nods her head in return, pressing her lips together, looking determined now. “…to enter…into a bargain as,” Williams pauses, licking her lips in thought, “to justify…”

I nod my head again, seeing that she’s slowing down once more, trying to get it out of her.

“…another person in understanding that…his or her invitation and consent…will…will…”

“C’mon, Williams. Don’t do this to me,” I sigh, and while my arms are crossed still I squeeze upper arm with one of my hands. And as I do, my eyes briefly leave her to look at the rest of the class, seeing all of their eyes glued on her. Because that’s how law school works—everyone looks at you when you’re called on, sitting on the edge of their seat as they hope you get the fucking answer wrong.

“…will…conclude it,” she bites down on her lip, and looks at me asking for approval.

“Paranthetical…?” I ask, lifting my brows.

Her lips part, and I see her bottom lip begin to quiver. “P-Paranthetical…Restatement…”

I watch as she trails off, her mouth remaining slightly open, eyes looking lost as she can’t recall the number.

I sigh and hang my head down. I uncross my arms, letting them come down to my side. I lift my head back up as I take three long strides to the front of the classroom, and all of everyone’s eyes are now on me as I demand their attention by doing so.

“An offer is a manifestation of willingness to enter into a bargain so as to justify a person in understanding,” as I say this I turn around and walk back to the whiteboard, grab one of the markers, and begin writing exactly what I said and continue to write the rest of the definition as I recite it incredibly loud without pausing, “that his or her invitation and consent will conclude it, parenthetical Restatement Twenty-Four; which is clear that it is addressed to him or her, Paranthetical _Craft_ ; in a way that is ‘clear, definite, and explicit, that leaves nothing open for negotiation,’ Paranthetical _Steinberg_.”

A good ten seconds later, I finish writing out exactly what I said, and I take a step back to look at what is written on the board:

 

> **Offer:** An offer is a manifestation of willingness to enter into a bargain so as to justify a person in understanding that his or her invitation and consent will conclude it, [Restatement 24]; which is clear that it is address to him or her [ _Craft_ ]; in a way that is “clear, definite, and explicit, that leaves nothing open for negotiation” [ _Steinberg_ ].

I turn back around to face the class and walk forward till I’m standing in front of the very first row. My eyes are on the back row, looking down the entire row from right to left before I look to the second to last row and do the same thing—then the third row, then the second, and I finish with the first. And once I look to the last person on the left side of the first row, my eyes go to who sits in the middle of the first row.

And as I do this, no one looks at me—not a single student makes eye contact with me.

And then I look to Williams, where she sits in the third row, which is the center row, in the very middle seat. After a few seconds, as I continue to look at her, she finally meets my gaze—most likely because she could feel my eyes on her this entire time.

She’s crying—she’s crying. I see nothing but bright red instead of white surrounding the blue in her eyes—I see the tip of her nose bright red.

“Now, I understand that we’re in the beginning of week five, but with how many times I recite this per class and how many times I even put it on every PowerPoint, I think you would have had it by now,” I say. “Your midterm is in two _weeks_ , and you should have _this shit DOWN_ by now.”

Williams’s body scrunches up at my words, as if trying to make herself so small in that seat of hers that she’ll disappear from my sight.

“Now,” I continue, “ _Say it again._ ”

Her eyes widen now. “Me…?”

“Yes, _you_ , Ms. Williams. You were halfway there—you were _almost_ there! I finished it for you and even was nice enough to write it down behind me. So try again, _without_ looking at the board.”

I keep my eyes on her and remain still. I can see from the corner of my eyes everyone looking over at her once more.

She swallows and nods her head. I see her eyes look to the whiteboard for a second before forcing herself to look away—to look at the blank, white wall next to it.

“C-Can I continue where I left off?” she asks, looking back to me.

“Sure, why not. But if you do that, I’m gonna have to make you recite it from the very beginning till the end right after that, as a heads up.”

She sighs now and closes her eyes. She keeps them closed as she begins to speak.

“An offer is…is…”

I see, even from this distance, a tear leave her left eye and begin to trail down her red cheeks.

“a…manifestation…o-of assent—“

“ _No_ ,” I say firmly, and as I notice some of my students jump a bit in their seats, I wonder if I said it too loud—to firmly. “I’m going to have to stop you right there.”

And that’s when I begin to see her shake—her body begin to tremble like a tiny leave blowing in the freezing cold wind. That’s when I begin to see tears one after the other leave her eyes as she opens them, running quickly down her cheeks. Her bottom lip quivers there and I finally turn away and walk to the computer that’s set up at the front of class. I press the button behind me, that’s next to the center whiteboard, which brings the screen down. I turn on the computer and pull up the second PowerPoint I had planned for today.

As I do so, I can hear the sound of her sniffling—of her rushing to pack everything up while her hands tremble. It’s once I pull up the PowerPoint that I look back to the class, my eyes going to her. She stands up once I do, quickly walking through her row, down the three steps of the aisle, and bolts out the door.

I pause for a few seconds, my eyes looking over my classroom now filled with thirty-nine students from left to right.

“Unilateral Contract—anyone want to take a shot at what they think one is based off _Glover v. Jewish War Veterans_?”

_I wish I had words to encourage—inspire. But the truth is I’m wrecked, and I’m sad, and I’m tired._

***************************************************

_11:00 P.M._

I sigh as I unlock the door to my apartment. I open it and walk in, turn the lights on, shut it and lock it behind me. I watch as the lights do turn on, seeing how large and empty my apartment is—my apartment, that’s just for me…

I walk over to the kitchen and set my bag down on the counter. I next walk to the refrigerator, eyes glancing up and down as I think of what to eat.

But I don’t grab anything to eat—instead, I close it, and walk to the main area where the couches, chairs, coffee table, and my large television are. I walk until I’m right in front of my television, which takes up half of the large wall it’s on because it’s so grand, and open the cabinet of the mini-bar I have set there. I pull out one of my bottles of single malt scotch, which I’m already halfway through, and place it on top of the bar. I grab one of my glasses, holding it in my hand and pick back up the bottle. I walk to my kitchen and grab a few ice cubes and put them in my glass before setting that on the counter. I open the bottle of scotch and pour it out till my small glass is almost filled to the brim, watching the caramel liquid spill out. I put the cork back in and leave the bottom on the counter, picking up the glass and taking a good gulp from it. I don’t cringe or twist my face as the scotch burns the back of my throat when I swallow it; no, I _welcome_ this burning sensation. I welcome the lingering affects of it, too, as I walk to the main area of my apartment, settling on one of my two couches. I kick my oxfords off and rest my feet on top of my coffee table, crossing my legs when I do so. I grab the remote and turn on the TV, changing it to Comedy Central to watch _The Daily Show_.

But I don’t pay attention—I can’t pay attention, even with all of the audience laughter and the hilarious jokes.

I can’t, because all I can think about is Williams—all I can replay in my mind is that moment in class.

Because I…I had to be like that. _I had to be like that_. I’m new at this law school—this is my first semester teaching here. I _have_ to set that foundation, otherwise future students will think I’m too easy—that I teach their class that they can put on the back burner for the semester. And when that happens, students don’t pay attention—they don’t attend class often, they don’t take thorough notes, and because of that they don’t know I teach which is what they _need_ to know to pass the damn Bar and be a good attorney in the first place.

That’s all I want—for them to be good lawyers in the long run.

And if I’m not doing my job—if I’m not firm and hard so they take me seriously—if I don’t push them till they’re on the edge, then they can’t be good lawyers.

I bring the glass back up to my lips and take another drink. But this time I down the entire glass.

I stand back up and walk to the my kitchen, settling the glass on the counter.

I pour more scotch into it, but this time when I see the dark honey colored liquid I see Ms. Williams, with that head full of blonde hair—with that youthful face and bright red, water eyes—staring back at me, pleading for me to stop. _Pleading and begging for me to just stop._

But I didn’t. _I didn’t. I didn’t stop._

I put the cork back in and slowly walk back to the couch, the audience laughter of the show still simple background noise. I lazily plop down on it and bring the glass once more to my lips, taking another large gulp.

An hour later, I’m stumbling back to my room after the four drinks of scotch I had, forgetting to turn on the lights as I do so. I simply strip down naked and crawl into bed, my flat pillow and firm mattress welcoming me home at last. I close my eyes, and within minutes, feel myself lull off to sleep.

*************************************************

** Fall Semester 2015, Week 5 **

_9:35 P.M., Wednesday_

_Room 217, Contracts_

The five remaining students left from my class finally leave the classroom, happily talking and laughing amongst one another as they walk to and out the door. Their laughter only disappears as the door shuts and they walk further and further away down the hallway away from here.

I stand at the tiny podium set up on top of the table that’s in the front of the classroom, my attendance sheet and seating chart on it. I glance back and forth between the documents and to the empty seats in front of me, seeing flashes of all the faces and bodies of my students who were siting here just moments ago, as I take roll.

I get down to the last name on the roster.

_Williams, Cara._

I look up to where I know she sits—I look up to the third and center row, and to the middle seat—the seat that’s dead center in the classroom.

And I flash back to just moments ago in the middle of class, after I cracked a joke and they all picked up on it and were laughing—were smiling.

And in this flashback of mine, I find that she’s not there—that her seat is the only empty one. The center seat is empty.

I glance back down to my roster.

_Williams, Cara._

I repeat it in my mind.

_Williams, Cara._

_Ms. Williams._

It’s not the first time a student has been absent—I’ve already had an absence here and there, but usually not more than two in one day if there are even any. And none of those have ever affected me.

But when I look back to that moment that took place today in class—that moment where everyone was laughing and smiling, enjoying themselves, including myself, my chest and heart grow heavy and tight…

Because I’m filled with a hint of emptiness.

My body grows a little heavy as I stare down at her name, trying to block out that memory.

But I can’t—I can’t my chest begins to feel deep, and somehow dark—as my own head suddenly feels too heavy for my neck to hold up any longer.

_Williams, Cara._

I put an “x” next to her name, indicating that she was absent.

I grab both sheets of paper, put them in my leather bag so I can turn them into our secretary all of us professors share tomorrow morning. I sling my bag over my shoulder, and walk out the door, set on just going home.

_I’m giving up on one of my dreams today. Sometimes a dream isn’t worth what you pay._

*************************************************

She never returned to my class after that day.

Actually, she never returned to any of her classes that day.

I still feel guilty about it to this day—still try and ignore and block it out as much as possible, because it haunts me still. I can’t escape it. I try and ignore all emotions and feelings associated with what happened that semester, even though all those emotions and feelings have transformed as being my personal doubts with my job that I share with no one.

Those doubts being that I’m not doing a good job—that I’m driving so many of them to consider giving up on pursuing their juris doctorate, even though for many of them being a lawyer has been a dream of their since they were children.

Those doubts being that I’m doing the exact opposite of what I want and intend to do—what I’m passionate about—what’s the sole reason for why I woke up one day and applied to be a law school professor at various schools across the nation—to help teach law school student show to be the best lawyers possible—to flourish their dreams and goals of theirs that I had, too, at their age.

“Are you okay, Professor Morgan?” she asks in a whisper, her lips brushing against the shell of my ear. I feel my body shiver from her hot breath on my skin—from her soft and sweet voice low in my ear—from her skin against mine.

I feel my body shiver because I can hear how much she _cares_.

 _“Mhm_ ,” I say contently, my chest rumbling as I pull her in closer to me. “Thank you, Calla.”

_I’m too content like this, with her—too happy. I don’t **want** to let go._

“For what?”

“Understanding—for…trusting, I guess.”

It’s what slips off my lips immediately—it’s all I know to say in this moment—it’s all I know to say after what she’s said, what she’s done…

She remains silent for a moment before speaking up. “It’s okay, Professor Morgan. It’s okay.”

_It’s okay._

As if she knows somehow—as if she knows and can tell this self-doubt I have that’s been eating away at me from the inside since that fall semester, even though she’s only been my student for barely three weeks now.

_It’s okay._

Usually I hate those words. Usually I hate when people say that to try and make you feel better, because fuck does it never work, because when it’s being said shit definitely _isn’t_ okay.

But those words, coming from her…they only make my entire chest burn deeply, and my body feel warm all over.

I feel Calla’s hand come to the back of my head, holding me firmly there, followed by her long fingers slipping into my locks of hair. My breath hitches in my throat as she does this—I feel lightening strike my entire body, and I feel like I’m on fire. I manage to sigh despite how tight my chest and throat feel. I tighten my arms around her, and press the side of my face further against hers, feeling the tip of my nose brush against the soft skin on her cheek. I feel my heart begin to slow as we stay still like this—I feel her chest that was once falling and rising rapidly now doing so slowly, beginning to sync with mine.

And I feel my eyes begin to burn—I feel them quickly become moist, and I swallow as I try to fight off the suddenly urge to cry. I only tighten my arms around her as I do—I clench my jaw as I do, until I feel my eyes within a few seconds grow dry, and the burning sensation dissipate. It’s been too long since I let myself cry—since I let myself actually _feel_ and _acknowledge_ those feelings. Because I learned how to turn those feelings off and on like a like a light switch thirty-one years ago, when I was in the first semester of law school, just as Ms. Williams was when I was her Contracts professor.

I hold onto Calla, because that’s all I know what to do in this moment—it’s all I know how to do, and all I _want_ to do. Hold onto her, and keep breathing in vanilla and cinnamon—keep feeling her fingers embed themselves in my hair, squeezing my locks every now and then in between her small fingers.

_I don’t know how to let go._

_I don’t know how._

_I don’t **want** to let go._

But I do, because I know we have to. My arms loosen around hers slowly, and I run my hands from the middle of her back down to the center of her lower back. They slide along her lower back till each one is behind her hips. My cheek leaves hers as I straighten my head and open my eyes.

In return, her fingers slip out of my hair, and her arms leave my body. She climbs off my lap and stands up.

But I don’t want to just yet—I don’t want to stop touching her. Not after that—not after finally…

My arms remain reaching out, my hands on the back of her hips slowly slipping off as I look up and into her eyes. I probably look desperate to her—I bet I do. But Calla is gazing at me with wonder—with care, and like…like she doesn’t want me to let go either.

My palms first slip off, then my pinkies—followed by my thumbs, ring fingers, middle fingers, and finally the tips of my index fingers. It’s the tips of my index fingers that linger the most—that leave her hips centimeter by centimeter. But they do leave eventually, my hands falling back to my side. Our gazes are still locked like this—with Calla standing, gazing down at me, while my head is completely tilted up and looking into her _forgiving_ brown eyes.

I finally look away, flicking my wrist to check the time.

“ _Shit, fuck_ —it’s 10:30 already!” I curse, standing up from my seat. I turn to the table and quickly gather up all the case briefs into a neat stack before slipping them into my messenger bag.

“ _Shit,_ did time really go by _that_ fast?!” Calla asks, and I hear her footsteps as she walks away, up the steps of the aisle, down the third row, and to the very center seat where her packed backpack is. I look up, seeing her grabbing it and slinging it over her right shoulder.

_Williams, Cara._

It hits me just now as I see her do this—as I see her walk from that spot and rushing down the row, down the aisle, and to the door of the classroom, that she sits where Ms. Williams did that semester, in the same exact classroom even…

“ _Fuck,_ I know, right?” I say with a laugh, placing my bag on my shoulder and walking towards the front door, pushing this realization to the back of my mind.

“Well, you know what they say,” she says as she stops in front of the door, and I stop directly behind her.

“And what might that be?” I ask with a deep voice and a smirk.

Calla places her hand on the handle, but doesn’t turn it. Instead, she turns her head back to look at me. I take a small step forward, the front of my body brushing against the back of hers. Her head is tilted up to look at me, while mine is down, our eyes locked on each other. I feel my heart rate picking back up as I anticipate her response.

“Time flies when you’re _having fun_.”

Her tongue runs slowly over her lips as they curl into a smile. _Oh, fuck._

And then suddenly she turns her head away, and I notice her press down on the door handle.

I reach out and cover her hand with mine without thinking. Her hand is so tiny, I notice, and my fingers are much longer than her own slender and beautiful ones. And in this moment, I swear I can feel my heart skip a beat.

Calla turns her head to look back at me.

“And did you have fun, _Ms. Villanueva?_ ” I ask in an incredibly low whisper, leaning into her body when I do.

Our eyes are still locked on each other, until hers glance down, and I notice they look down at my lips in particular. I lick them when she does, trying to keep myself from smiling, and then she glances back into my eyes.

I wonder if she’s thinking exactly what I am—if she’s _imagining_ precisely what I am. I wonder if she’s imagining me gripping that tiny wrist of hers tightly right now, turning her body and pinning her against the door right now. I wonder if she’s imagining me reaching over her body and closing the blinds of the small window on the door, and snaking a hand behind her body to lock the door. I wonder if she’s imagining me grinning at her after I do, letting go of her wrist, and instead pinning in her place by resting my forearms on both sides of her head. I wonder if she’s imagining me, licking my lips as I press my bottom half to hers, spreading her legs by placing my leg in between them so I can get closer. I wonder if she’s imagining me finally kissing her, capturing that plump bottom lip of hers in between mine, sucking and nibbling on it and then slipping my tongue into her mouth.

I wonder if she’s imagining this, because I am.

“I did,” she whispers, “And did you, _Professor Morgan_?”

My lips curl into a smile at the sound of that, _especially_ at the way she said my name so seductively like that.

“I really did,” I reply. I slip my hand slowly off hers taking my time—allowing each part of my hand to leave hers until the tip of my index finger is the last to leave her skin.

Then she opens the door, holding it open for me.

I walk through and into the hallway, and I hear the sound of her heels from her ankle boots clicking quickly behind me. I slow down so she can catch up, although it only takes her a second to join my side. We walk through the hallway in complete silence—as if none of that even happened at all—as if nothing ever happened at all—as we walk down the hallway, down the stairwell, through the first floor of the building—as we walk out the building and through campus till we make it to the parking garage.

“Which floor did you park on?” I ask.

Calla turns her head to look at me, and I see her rubbing her hands up and down on her upper arms, her body shivering from the cold. “Third floor, you?” I see her breath become visible in the air when she asks.

“Same,” I say, biting down on my bottom lip—because I have to will myself not to reach out and wrap an arm around her shoulders, tugging her into my side so I can give her some of my warmth. But I know I can’t—not here, out in the open like this. Even though the door was unlocked earlier, the blinds open on the window, and we were in a classroom, the risk wasn’t the same—because no one was in the building, not _this_ late at night.

We walk up the flight of stairs side-by-side, and as we do I finally speak up again.

“Cold?” I ask with a small smile.

“I left my coat in my car like the idiot I am,” Calla laughs. “I’ll just put the heat on blast once I’m inside.”

“I’ll make sure on Monday that you remembered to bring your coat,” I chuckle, and she giggles as well.

We climb up the three flights of stairs till we step onto the third floor, and the lights on the floor flicker on sensing our movement. The entire floor is nearly empty, except for a couple of cars spread throughout. I spot my motorcycle parked about five or six spaces down.  
“Which one do you drive?” Calla asks, turning her head up to look at me. I’m still looking ahead as I begin to smile at her question. “Believe it or not…” I begin, bending my knees just a bit so I’m closer to her height, as I lean my body completely into hers. Our heads are side-by-side, mine just a bit over hers. I turn my head slightly in her direction as I point towards my ride. My eyes glance over, waiting for her reaction, and I start to grin from ear-to-ear when I see her jaw drop and eyes widen.

“No fucking way!” Calla exclaims, giggling a bit. “ _You?!_ ”  
I laugh at her response. “That’s what they all said at last year’s faculty party, which was my first one.”

“They all thought I was too old to be riding a motorcycle,” I add on. Calla only shakes her head at me.

“Too old? More like jealous,” she teases, sticking her tongue out at me, and I laugh again.

“Which one is _yours_?” I ask.

Calla points in the same direction I did, turning her head to look at me with a huge smile. “I parked just a few spots from you!”

“Well, how about that? Talk about a coincidence,” I smile. I motion forward by lifting my head up a bit. “C’mon,” I say, taking a step forward.

Her and I walk together until we reach Calla’s car—a small, dark metallic, Toyota Corolla. She reaches into her backpack and takes her keys out once we stop, and unlocks the car. As she reaches for the door handle, I quickly grab it before she does with my hand, and pull it completely open for her. Calla turns her head to me, narrowing her eyes as she slips off her backpack, while I flash her a smile in return.

“You know you didn’t have to do that.”

“Can’t you just thank me for being the gentleman that I am?” I smirk, making Calla laugh and shake her head. I fold my arms and rest them on top of the door, leaning against it and watching her. She places her backpack on her passenger seat and turns to me.

“Get home safe, alright? No risky shit,” I say.

“Same goes to you, considering _you’re_ the one driving a motorcycle,” Calla says, and we both smile at one another. “And don’t work too hard grading! You have to make to have time to enjoy yourself,” she says while climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Doll, I _always_ make time for pleasure,” I say with a wide smile before shutting the door, turning and walking away to my motorcycle that’s parked three spots down.

I take off my leather bag and now place it across my body so it’s secure. I take place my helmet on, and turn on the engine. I don’t look back to her as I take off down the third floor of the parking garage and go down to the second.

* * *

 ** Spring Semester, Week 3**  
_6:00 P.M., Monday—Office Hours  
_ _Professor Morgan’s Office_

_“Doll, I **always** make time for pleasure.”_

His words have been playing on repeat in my mind since I turned my head around before backing up my car only to find that he had already took off. His words played on an entire loop as I drove home in complete silence—as I undressed and changed into my pajamas, took what little make-up I had been wearing off, tied my hair back into a ponytail, when I slipped into bed, and until I drifted off to sleep.

His words kept running throughout my mind into the weekend, resurfacing even while I’d be doing mindless tasks such as cooking, or even sometimes while I was in the midst of reading for another class. The exact tilt of his head—the way his eyes looked down at me from where I sat in my driver’s seat—the playful and flirtatious tone of his voice—and those words… _oh those simple words_ that were enough to leave me speechless the entire drive home…

_“Doll, I **always** make time for pleasure.”_

And now I’d be seeing him for the first time since Friday night—the first time since that long embrace we had when he pulled me into his lap after I daringly reached out and wrapped my arms around him—the first time since he pressed the side of his face against mine—the first time since his arms slipped down from my waist and to my lower back, his hands pressed against the back of my hips—the first time since he pressed his body to the back of mine, whispering into my ear.

I’d be seeing him for the first time since Friday night because I had signed up for one of the available appointment times during his office hours last Wednesday, just two days before that happened. And because there was still a week until the assignment was due, and I noticed no one else had signed up for any of the other available time slots he had available during his office hours, that…

 _Oh, I knew what it meant._ That he would have all the time available before having to leave for class—that I could stretch out this appointment as long as I wanted, and take advantage of this before others would inevitably come to him within the final days of this large assignment being due and he’d be fully booked.

But I shouldn’t—I know I shouldn’t take advantage of that. So I’ll just be in and out, I tell myself—just there for the sole reason I signed up.

I walk down the hallway of the second floor, hearing my wedges against the floor as I do. I feel my navy blue dress, which stops just above my knees, brushing against my skin with every step I take. I glance down at it for a moment, seeing all the flowers on it, which are coral, peach, and another soft shade of pink. I also feel the material of my dress brush against my hand or arm as I walk from time to time, considering it’s sleeveless. The back of it is open slightly, just down to the middle of my back, and it exposes the nude and lace bralette I’m wearing under it.

After Friday…well…

My cheeks light up at the thought, going back to the middle of that embrace—going back to how the night ended.

You can probably guess why I decided to dress up a bit today.

Once I reach the door that leads into the corridor where some of the professor offices are, I open it. As I step inside the secretary at the front named Evelyn, who I’ve become acquainted with over the past two years of being a student here, greets me.

“Hi Evelyn, how are you this afternoon?” I ask with a smile. As I stand in front of her desk, I readjust the strap of my brown, leather messenger bag.

“I’m doing alright. How can I help you today, Calla?” she replies back with a smile, as well.

“I have an appointment to see Professor Morgan.”

“Hold on, let me pull up his calendar real fast…” she says, and I watch as she turns to her computer, clicking away. I wait for a few seconds until she finally turns back to me.

“Go ahead and walk over to his office!”

I nod my head and thank her before leaving her desk. I turn around and making a right turn down the corridor in the direction of his office. I walk down the hall, glancing back and forth over the names outside each designated office. It’s once I reach the end of the hall that I realize Professor Morgan’s is the very last one. I see that his door is cracked open, and the blinds for the window of his office are shut.

I lick my lips, preparing myself for a second or two before I step forward and knock on his door. After I do I begin to slowly push it open, and as it opens he starts to come into view.

Professor Morgan is sitting in his chair at his desk, one long leg folded the other, reading a book he has in his lap, head tilted down with his glasses on the edge of his nose.

He lifts his head up, blinking his eyes. He quickly shuts his book and places it on top of his desk, unfolds his legs and sits up straight.

“Ms. Villanueva, how are you today?” he asks.

I blink my eyes, wondering why he seems just a bit flustered right then. I know he didn’t forget my appointment, considering he brought it up on Friday…

I push that thought away, though, and smile at him. “I’m doing well! How about you, Professor Morgan?” I ask. I pause, though, turning my head to the door and then back to him. “Closed or open?”

I see him hesitate for a moment, actually _thinking_ about his answer. “…Closed,” he replies rather lowly, and I close the door before walking to the seat that’s across from his desk. I sit down and place my bag on the floor, then cross my legs.

“So…” he licks his lips before continuing, and his brown eyes glance up to mine. “How can I help you today?” His lips are pressed together, but they pull up slightly to form a closed-mouth smile.

“I’m actually here about our first assignment. I just had a few questions, and then I was hoping you could look at what I’ve written so far…?” I ask, flashing a smile.

Professor Morgan blinks his eyes and leans back in his seat slightly. “Woah! You’re telling me that you have already _started_ the assignment, which isn’t due for another _week_?” His eyes widen as he runs a hand over his facial hair.

I giggle a bit and shrug. “What can I say? I’m an overachiever,” I say with a smirk.

Professor Morgan chuckles, his lips pulling back into a wide smile. He lifts his leg up, settling his ankle over his other leg’s knee. His fingers are laced together, which he places in his lap. “Well, _Calla_ , I have to say at this rate you’re going to be top of my class and be my TA for this summer. I’m just saying…”

I blink my eyes, feeling my face grow warm. I shake my head at his statement. “I think you’re talking to the wrong person,” I say. “I highly doubt I’m going to get the top grade in your class.”

Professor Morgan’s lips twitch just a bit at my response, and then he quickly replies, “Don’t doubt yourself so much, Calla. I don’t think you realize just where you are in my class so far, considering your performance. _Fuck_ , you’ve been doing better than everyone else since the first day, _and_ continue to get impossibly better and maintain being at the top.”

I blink my eyes and my lips part, not sure how to respond—not sure what to say.

And he continues before I even get a chance to reply. “Well, we’ll just have to see where this semester takes us then, won’t we? And even if you aren’t top in my class, Calla, if you’re lucky enough I might just make you my TA anyway considering how outstanding your performance and knowledge has been already…” The left corner of his lips tilts upwards into a wide smirk as he looks at you with those darkened eyes.

I blink my eyes again, taken back by this. I don’t even…where do I even begin?

“That’s…um, very flattering of you to say, Professor Morgan,” I swallow, and begin to smile. “I’m definitely open to the possibility, just so we’re clear…”

I lick my lips, and then my smile quickly fades.

“So, back to the assignment,” I say. Professor Morgan immediately sits up, switching gears just as fast. “The prompt doesn’t say the format it has to be in. I presume it should be a memorandum, just like most of our assignments have been in law school, is that right? I know it’s not safe to assume, so should it be in the format of a memo?”

I look at him with wide eyes as he looks down, absorbing my question. I keep myself focused on what I came here to do—on my mission. Not on how he licks his lips as he contemplates his answer…

_Oh, certainly not on that…_

“Hmm…that’s actually a good question, Calla. That’s my fault for not adding that in there. I’d say stick with your presumption. I’ll let the class know tonight that’s the format we’re going with for this assignment.”

I nod in reply, making a mental note of that. “If you don’t mind, I need to take out the prompt for my next question…” I say.

“Take your time,” Professor Morgan shrugs, relaxing in his seat.

I turn to my bag and take out my binder, taking the prompt out from the side sleeve. I had already highlighted and marked the hell out of it, with notes scribbled down with ideas on what to talk about.

“This is more of a general question, but how much research I should have compiled for the negotiation we’re having?”

Considering that the assignment itself is putting together all necessary and relevant information I plan on using to get not only what the party I’m representing needs, but as much as they want. And since it’s an open universe assignment, and certainly not like finding relevant case law like I’m use to doing in all other classes, I want to make sure I’m on the right track and not going overboard on this one.

Professor Morgan chuckles, “My, you certainly are the overachiever, Calla.”

I can’t help but flash him an innocent smile in reply. “I wasn’t exaggerating earlier when I said I was, Professor.”

Professor Morgan’s cheeks glow slightly as he licks his lips, shaking his head, and his smile begins to fade.

He clears his throat, regaining his composure. “Well, why don’t you show me what you have so far, and I’ll tell you if it’s enough or not? Wouldn’t be fair for everyone else if I just gave you all the right answers, now, would it?” Professor Morgan smirks smugly, extending his hand out across his desk, motioning with his index and middle fingers for me to hand him my work.

Now _I’m_ the one who is beginning to grow quite flustered. My cheeks begin to feel incredibly warm, and when I swallow I find that my throat is beginning to tighten.

I turn my attention down to my binder, flipping through the pages to find the draft I had completed so far for the assignment. And all the while I can feel those dark, brown eyes trained on me, while Professor Morgan leans back in his chair.

Once I get to it, I take it out of the binder and hand it over to him. “I know it’s not much so far, but—“ I begin to say, before being interrupted by him.

“Shhh,” He gently shushes me, head turned down and focused on reading the first page, holding my work in both his hands.

Then, he looks up at me. “You want _my_ help, right? So don’t give any excuses, and give me a moment to look over your work, Calla.” He flashes me a smile before turning his attention to my assignment.

If I didn’t have the chance to get to know him as I have so far, I would have been taken back by that comment—most likely upset. But somehow I knew Professor Morgan was being somewhat serious while also teasing me. And after all, he did have a point…

I internally sigh, leaning back and growing comfortable in my chair. My eyes glance around his rather large office, first scanning the bookcase behind him that takes up the entire wall. At first glance, most people would every think single item is a law book. However, as I look over each shelf, I note some books are for recreational reading—collector’s editions. Some I’ve even read myself, and others I haven’t and would love the chance to.

My eyes inevitably go back to Professor Morgan, whose glasses are once more on the edge of his nose, threatening to slip off at any moment. He has his chin resting in the palm of one of his hands, the tips of his fingers brushing against his stubble, while he leans back in his chair. He’s so intently reading my work that he doesn’t even realize I’ve been looking at him for a few seconds longer than I should be…

I shift my attention away from him and once more to his grand book collection, resuming where I left off. Once again, comfortable silence we were in just the previous week falls between us. I can hardly even hear my own erratic heart beating against my chest. It’s the sound of Professor Morgan clearing his throat that makes me jump a bit in my seat, pulling me back to reality.

I look over to him as he sits up a bit more and takes his glasses off with one, gentle swipe. His hazel eyes finally glance up, meeting mine as he sets my assignment on his desk and places his glasses on top of it. He folds his hands together and places them in his lap, leaning back once more in his seat, eyes never leaving mine. I continue to sit as I have been, legs crossed, head held high, the palms of my hands resting gently on my thigh, never daring to look away from him.

“So, do you want to hear my thoughts or no?” Professor Morgan asks, lips pressed together in a firm line.

“Of course,” I reply eagerly—even a bit anxiously.

He lets out a rather long sigh, and I can’t help but begin to doubt myself now. Did I really mess up that bad? Am I really on the wrong track already? I swallow as I wait for his answer, leaving me on the edge of my seat.

“You need to stop being so hard on yourself. That’s my personal, honest opinion. You’re already near where your final assignment should be.”

His eyes are still on me, unwavering.

I blink, but still don’t dare to look away as much as I’m dying to. I start to furrow my brow a bit in thought. Thinking of what to say next, I stay quiet.

Professor Morgan also furrows his brow. “What? Is that not what you were expecting to hear?”

I didn’t know what I was expecting, actually. Until it dawned on me just now—that I was expecting criticism, just endless amounts of criticism that I would have to scribble down—so much that once I reviewed it, I would wonder if it was humanely possible to even get a 90 on the assignment at the very highest.

Because that’s what happened every single time I met with a professor in the past—I was so use to it happening _every single time_ I met with a professor. Which is why I always met with my professors ahead of time—because I expected to have my work completely destroyed every time, only to repair every hole ripped into it.

Because I had become accustomed to nothing ever being enough to every professor—there have been very few times where I’d get one or two compliments with something I did well on a paper. And, perhaps, that’s why I automatically define myself as an “overachiever”—to cover up that the reason I meet with every professor so often and ahead of time for assignments is because I usually have my work torn to shreds.

I finally look away from Professor Morgan’s eyes, looking down at my own hands. The fingers of my right hand are drumming against my thigh, one after the other, starting from my index finger to my pinky, repeating this pattern again.

“No…” I finally answer. I look back up at him, only to find that he actually looks somewhat concerned for me. “I thought—“

Did he really want to know what I thought—the reason behind why I’m “so hard on myself,” as I described?

“You don’t have to explain why, Calla. I know why.”

He says it with so much certainty—every bit of him is telling me that he knows exactly why the way _I am_ —why I say I’m an “overachiever” and why I’m “so hard on myself.” And I’m not sure whether to be happy or not about this.

“And I want you to know, I’m not like that. I know you’re not fucking perfect—hell, you’re nowhere _close_ to being fucking perfect! How professors expect you all to _be_ up to par with them when you’re in law school, with probably only two years _max_ of _actual legal work experience_ , I’ll never understand. And why they decide to take that expectation out on you, I’ll also never understand. But just know I’m not like that, and I don’t have those fucking ridiculous expectations of you either.”

And now I know exactly how I feel about this—I feel suddenly so much more comfortable around Professor Morgan than I already was since Friday evening—I feel relieved, and… _happy._

“If you’ve made it this far, in my mind you’re doing just fine. So take a deep breath, and _woosah,”_ Professor Morgan says, even taking a breath and letting it out as he says that last sentence. I can’t help but giggle in return, making him smile.

“Wow…oh my goodness,” I say, eyes wide and slightly out of breath, at a loss for words for the first time. “I just—“ I pause, licking my lips in thought, eyes still not him. And then I finally meet his gaze, grinning from ear-to-ear just as he is. “Thank you so much for being understanding, Professor Morgan. I don’t know what else to say aside from that…”

He shakes his head, still smiling. “I don’t expect anything else from you, Calla.”

Yet I feel like saying thank you isn’t enough, but I take his word despite this.

“Do you have any other questions?” he asks, smile gone now. My own smile begins to fade in return as I purse my lips in thought.

The books! That’s right! There was a book I noticed earlier that I was dying to ask him about.

“It’s completely off topic from the assignment, but I really just have to ask,” I say, immediately jumping up from my chair out of excitement. I can hardly hold that energy back as I quickly leave my chair, walking with long and confident strides around his desk and over to the book case behind him. My head is completely tilted up and I extend my arm out as high as I can, but I can’t reach the second to last shelf because of how tall and grand the bookcase is. “I noticed it earlier, while you were reading over my paper,” I say as I turn my head back, looking over at him with a smile.

Professor Morgan turns in his desk chair in my direction, sliding out of it with ease. He picks his glasses up and puts them on. Then he stands up, taking a few steps with those long legs of his in my direction, with a huge grin on his face.

“Well, which one is it then?” he asks in that deep voice of his, lifting his brows up playfully as he does so.

“ _Emma_ , by Jane Austen,” I reply.

Professor Morgan stops walking, now standing next to me. My head turns in his direction, completely lifted up to look at him considering how much he towers over me. I’m estimating he’s a good…hmm, six inches taller than I am.

Professor Morgan wrinkles his forehead in thought, trying to remember where he placed it.“ _Oh yeah!_ ” he suddenly remembers, quickly turning towards where the book is placed, which is in my direction.

“It’s over here,” I say, motioning with my index finger where it is. I stand on my tiptoes now, still nowhere near tall enough to reach it. “I’m just a bit too short to be able to grab it, “ I say with a small laugh after.

Considering I’m standing just below where the book is, his body is completely turned in my direction, his arm extended out. His torso is brushing against my back and right side, while his forearm is slightly pressed against mine, with his fingers centimeters away from touching my own. Professor Morgan pauses when he hears my latter comment, turning his head to look down at me.

“I think ‘a bit too short’ is an understatement, doll,” he chuckles.

I furrow my brow at his reply before quickly narrowing my eyes, and then laugh in return. “Story of my life,” I say with a shrug.

Professor Morgan laughs in return. “Don’t worry, I’ll grab it for you.” His head turns back up. That’s when his fingers finally, _finally_ brush against my hand as he resumes his reach for the book. And I swear he does it intentionally considering the book is a shelf higher than I can reach, and that his touch lingers far longer than it should. Because I feel the tips of all of his fingers start to run over where my wrist and hand meet, up my hand and my fingers, till they run past my hand and onto the spines of the books. And the entire time my breath is hitched in my throat, and my heart speeds up, considering part of his body is pressed up slightly against mine to top it off. Once he grabs the book, Professor Morgan takes a step back as he brings it down. I feel like I can _finally breathe_ now that our bodies are no longer making contact.

How is it that such little physical contact, _that’s so simple,_ can make my body grow hot and make my heart race?

I swallow, finally turning away from the bookcase and towards Professor Morgan who is a couple of steps away.

“I’m presuming you’re a Jane Austen fan, Calla?” Professor Morgan asks as he hands me the book.

I take a step forward, leaving a foot in between us. I decide in this moment to give him a taste of his own medicine. As I take the book from him, my hand overlaps half of his, the tips of my fingers pressing just slightly into his skin. My eyes are focused on this simple act as I take the book from him, my skin no longer making contact. I glance back up at him, licking my lips for a second before answering.

“I am, actually! I’ve been meaning to give _Emma_ a read, but I haven’t had a time to buy it from a bookstore. So I was excited when I saw that you had it,” I say with a close-mouthed smile, that’s rather too innocent considering the interaction we just had…

“Well, if you’re interested, I have most of her books here in my office, actually. The rest are in my library at home. You’re more than happy to borrow _Emma_ , or any other book.”

 _Oh god…really?_ I look at him with wide, innocent eyes before I start to smile so much—I just can’t contain my excitement. I know I should reign in my eagerness, but it’s just impossible to, especially under these circumstances…

“ _Really?!_ Thank you so much, Professor Morgan!” I say, smiling as wide as possible.

And he’s smiling just as much as I am, laughing at my reaction, his cheeks actually bright pink! “Of course, Calla Any time—especially since it makes you _this_ happy.”

I knew I shouldn’t have been so eager—shouldn’t have been so excited so quickly. But it’s who I am, and I can’t help that. My smile fades a bit, and I sigh, “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

His hazel eyes widen just a bit in return. “No, don’t apologize.” Professor Morgan extends a hand out, and it lands on my right shoulder. He squeezes it gently, and I suddenly find myself wanting to close the distance between each other—just wanting to be in his arms once more—wanting to feel his lips mold against mine.

“You don’t find your kind of excitement anymore. It’s rare to meet someone who genuinely is happy over the small things in life. Don’t lose touch of that. It’s…nice. It’s refreshing.”

The mood has gone from light hearted to serious all over again. My heart is racing yet again, my mind completely blank, with no words on the tip of my tongue to reply back. All I can do is stare into those hardened, yet slightly warm brown eyes of his that are staring right back at me.

I nod my head in reply. “I won’t. I promise,” I say, perhaps too quietly.

Perhaps it’s then he realizes he should finally let go of me, his hand dropping back to his side, and he clears his throat as he sits back down in his chair. I walk back around his desk and sit back down, placing the book on his desk in front of me

“Now, any more questions, regarding the assignment or not?” he asks, smiling with his lips pressed together. And there it is—the mood lightening back up again.

I smile the same way back at him, warmth and fondness glowing in my eyes and radiating off of me. “No. You’ve answered all my questions. Thank you.”

He nods his head, and the silence comes back yet again. I notice that he’s thinking, and I wonder if he’s trying to search for something to say that’d make me stay longer—just as he did on Friday.

Because I’d like to stay longer, too. I’d like to stay just a bit longer again. Even though it’s completely going against what I told myself I’d do before even stepping foot into this damn _building_. It seems as though I’ve lost sight of that once I knocked on his office door—as if I never had a chance anyway.

He sighs aloud before speaking up. “I’ll see in you class tonight, right?” Professor Morgan asks.

As place my binder into my leather messenger bag, I lift my head up to look at him. I nod, flashing him a smile. “Of course—like I told you before, I wouldn’t miss your class for _anything_ , Professor Morgan.”

There’s a twinkle in his eyes as he hears this, and he smirks in return. “You do realize I’m going to hold you to your word on this _all semester long_ , don’t you, _Calla?_ ” It’s as he says “all semester long” that his speech slows down, drawing out _every single syllable_ with his tongue rolling over his lips so damn seductively it’s driving me fucking _wild_. I need to get the hell out of this office as fast as possible.

“I wouldn’t have said it from the beginning if I thought otherwise,” I say, wrinkling my teasingly as I do. I stand up, taking my messenger bag and putting it on my shoulder. Somehow I manage to balance myself on my wedges as I do, and I reach over and grab _Emma_ from his desk.

“Can’t forget the very reason you came to see me,” Professor Morgan says, grabbing my assignment from in front of him and standing up as he does so. He leans across his desk, handing it to me. It seems as though we both take this opportunity to let our touch linger once more. Because as my hand overlaps where his is gripping the papers, some of his fingers come over mine, running up and down my hand just a little. Just that action, alone, makes my hand tingle, and I’m suddenly warm all over.

Oh, and he knows that I know _exactly what he’s doing_ , because his head is tilted down just slightly watching me, his warm eyes growing dark, the left corner of his lips pulling into that sexy tilted smirk of his.

And I know, that he knows, _exactly what I’m doing_ , because I lick my lips in return, letting my tongue roll over them slowly, eyes daring not to look away from his.

And just as suddenly as this happened, it ends as I pull the papers back to me, placing it in my other arm where the book is.

I turn my back completely to him, walking to the door, my legs crossing one over the other, my dress shifting gracefully as I move my hips. I know he’s looking at that slight open back of my dress that exposes the sexy, nude, lacy bralette I’m wearing underneath, making him wonder if I’m also wearing _something else_ that’s just as sexy. I know he’s watching how my hips move, eyes trailing up and down the back of my legs and the rest of me.

Oh, _I know exactly what I'm doing. And he knows it, too._

I turn down on the door handle, opening it. But I don’t leave without getting one last look at him—before saying one last thing. Of course not because it’s rude—I have manners, after all.

I turn my body slightly towards him, eyes meeting one another once more. “I’ll see you tonight in class, Professor Morgan. I’m a woman of my word, after all,” I wink, with a small giggle.

“Looking forward to it, _as always_ ,” he says, winking back. And I turn my back to him, leaving his office with his door cracked open, just as it was when I arrived.

_Focus on me, babe._

I check my watch for the time. _7:00 P.M._ Had an hour really flown by that quickly?


	6. A Little Bit Dangerous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy all 12,187 words ;) 
> 
> Written to "Into You" by Ariana Grande & "Shape of You" by Ed Sheeran

**Spring Semester, Week 4**  
_6:00 P.M., Monday—Office Hours  
_ _Professor Morgan’s Office_

My knuckles meet the wooden door of his office that is cracked open, giving it a couple light taps to let him know I’m here. I’m the first appointment he has for today, and considering that he’s fully booked since the assignment is due on Wednesday, I only have thirty minutes with Professor Morgan. And I do plan on using all thirty minutes up.

“C’mon in,” he says. I open the door, stepping into his office. I’m greeted with the image of him leaning completely back in his chair while on his computer, turning in his chair to meet me with a warm smile. I can’t help but smile back before turning away slightly, closing the door behind me. As I do so, the bottom of my dress that stops at my mid-thigh turns with me, the soft material brushing against my skin. I turn back around and take a couple of steps forward, settling in the chair in front of his desk, placing my messenger bag down on the ground.

“Now how may I help you _this_ time, my little overachiever?” Professor Morgan smiles smugly, and I can’t help but roll my eyes and smile in return.

“I was hoping you’d drop that,” I reply with a light laugh. “No matter how accurate you might be.”

He shrugs. “I just call it as it is, doll.” And his chuckle follows after, which rings pleasantly in my ears along with his deep voice. Oh, I could never get use to that voice of his…

_And all I want to do is to fall in deep._

I reach down to my messenger bag and pull out the full document of my research—my last draft, ready to be edited once he reviews it and submitted. I place it on his desk in front of me, and push it towards him slowly, arm extended, just three fingers pressed into the document. My eyes are on him and I flash him a daring smile.

Professor Morgan reaches forward, his large hand coming on top of mine, although his eyes don’t look up at me. As my hand slides off the assignment, he takes hold of it and lifts it up. As he does so, he leans back into his chair, taking his glasses off his desk as he does so. He lifts his right leg up, resting that ankle on top of his left knee, settling my assignment in his lap as he slides his glasses on with ease. I hear him clear his throat before he begins reading.

I decide to utilize this time to resume where I left off with reading the book I borrowed from him, _Emma_. I’m already a quarter of the way through it—if it wasn’t for being in law school full time while also interning, I would have finished this the same day I got it. I reach into my bag and take the book out, cross my legs, and lean back in my own chair, the book in my lap and my head dipped down as my eyes read over every line.

And once more, that comfortable silence settles in between us.

I’m not sure how long it’s been before that silence is broken. But this time the sound of his voice reeling me back into reality doesn’t startle me like before—this time, it comes over me, making me warm, bringing me back almost gently.

“Calla.”

I blink my eyes, and lift my head up from my book at the sound of my name slipping off his lips, looking at him. Professor Morgan slides his glasses off and places them down in front of him, then places my assignment down.

“So?” I ask softly, lifting a brow.

“I think it’s perfect,” he says calmly. “I mean, there are a few grammatical errors here and there, but nothing that makes it difficult to read. As far as your research goes with case law, you’re exactly where you need to be—I think everything you gathered will come in handy incredibly on Wednesday during the simulation.”

I start to smile, lips still pressed together. “Thank you so much—it really means a lot to hear that coming from you.”

He nods in return. “If you email me your assignment before tonight, I’ll be able to go through and send you my edits with your grammar errors that I spotted by tomorrow morning.”

My eyes light up at his offer—most of my professors leave it all up to us to do that tedious work, so I can’t help but be extremely grateful for his offer. “Are you sure?” I ask. “I know you have so much other grading to do and all…”

He shakes his head. “ _Don’t_ , Calla. This is _my job_ , and I _care_ about what I do a lot. I want to make sure you end up becoming the best lawyer you can, and that requires me helping you, alright?”

“Thank you so much!” I say, grinning from ear-to-ear. “I definitely will take you up on that offer, Professor Morgan.” He chuckles lightly in return.

“I figured as much, seeing how well I know you so far,” he says with a smile. That’s when I see his eyes flicker away from me, his smile falling, as he looks to the clock on the wall behind me. I glance down at my watch in return, seeing the time.

_6:20 P.M. Ten minutes left._

“Since I have you in here, and you have the damn book out, I really do have to ask…” he says, and I glance back up at him. “What do you think of the book so far?” As he asks this, he sits up and pulls his chair forward, both his feet resting on the floor again.

“Well, I’m only a quarter of the way through, so I can only say so much,” I say.

“That’s okay. I just want to hear what you think of it so far—so, please, enlighten me with your opinion,” he says with a wide smile.

“Well, let’s see…I just got past where Emma turns down Mr. Elton’s proposal and he comes back with a new wife,” I begin. I lick my lips in thought, glancing away from Professor Morgan briefly. I try to be careful with my word choice as I gather my thoughts on the plot and characters so far. I look back to Professor Morgan before continuing. “I think Emma has a huge ego, to be quite honest. I do have to admire that her character, so far, is not interested in her own love life. But all because she simply matched one couple well the first time around, she suddenly becomes high and mighty and inserts herself into the relationships of others, when I really think she should stay in her own lane because she’s hurting others in the process. And I really can’t help but think _why_ Jane Austen decided to do this—to raise her main character’s ego so much, only to tear it down, considering how Jane Austen perceives herself, and wonder why she made Emma start off with such high self-esteem to where she comes across as being self-righteous, rather than the other way around. Because she did say at the beginning of the book that she’s writing the main character to be someone that she likes, whether or not others like her as well. I just want to know what her reason is behind doing this to Emma’s ego—obviously if Harriet wouldn’t be hurt in return by Emma’s ego blowing up in her face, then Emma wouldn’t be brought back down to earth. I just want to see where Emma’s character goes from here in terms of staying independent and strong, but without messing with others’ lives.”

Now that I’ve finally found myself done with rambling on, my cheeks light up as I realize how long I was going on for. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have gone on like that—you should’ve cut me off,” I say, apologizing profusely, shaking my head.

He only chuckles in reply. “No, no! Don’t apologize, Calla! Seriously—I loved hearing everything you had to say about it!” He licks his lips now in thought, and his smile only grows impossibly wider. “It makes me even more excited to hear what you think once you finish it, considering that you’ve already had this much to say about the book when you haven’t gotten to the _real_ good parts of it.”

“Well, you’re going to have to give me a while then, considering…” I gesture towards him and my assignment, making Professor Morgan throw his head back in laughter, and I giggle in return.

“Yeah, because I’m expecting you to have that finished overnight when you have work to do for _my_ class,” he says, grinning. Then he sighs aloud. “But really, take as long as you need with it—I can’t _wait_ to hear what you have to say about the book once you’re done.”

“Oh, you’ll certainly hear from me once I am. I don’t hold back, Professor Morgan,” I say, narrowing my eyes a bit. I watch as he bites his lip in return, and he’s still smiling ear-to-ear.

“Good thing I like a woman who doesn’t hold back.”

_But close ain’t close enough ‘til we cross the line…_

I freeze up, because I definitely did _not_ anticipate a reply like that from him. I look at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, while Professor Morgan chuckles. I put my poker face on, realizing from his reaction that he did that on purpose—that he wanted to get a reaction out of me, and to push the limit.

_Oh, he definitely pushed the limit today._

I lick my lips in thought before replying back as I stand up from the chair, grabbing my bag in the process, looking at him while doing so. “I don’t bite my tongue, sir. Especially not around you…”

That’s when I reach over and grab my assignment from his side of the desk, bent over, the top of my dress dipping down, exposing just a bit of my cleavage. And I quickly grab the document before standing back up straight, just to allow him a peak for a second. “I’ll see you in class, Professor,” I say before leaving his office. I wish I could turn around and see the expression on his face—wish I could turn around to see if he’s looking at me up and down, like I certainly know that he was. But this will just have to do.

_So name a game to play, and I’ll roll a dice…_

He wanted to play, so I’m damn well playing…

* * *

_8:00 P.M.  
_ _Negotiations Class, Room 227_

“Now, I’m handing out a fact pattern for us to go over so we can get some practice in before the negotiation simulation on Wednesday,” Professor Morgan says as he hands a stack of paper to a student sitting on the end of the first row. That person divides the stack in two, passing one half to the person in the row behind him, while handing off the other half to the person next to him after taking a sheet of paper off from the top himself. Eventually I’m able to grab a sheet, and my eyes immediately skip down to the call to question all the way at the bottom of the paper, which reads: “You represent Hudson Pharmaceutical Corporation, who needs to obtain at least $500,000 in donations from any the donors mentioned. Your goal is to get more than the minimum your client needs.”

Then, my eyes flicker to the top of the page, reading the vague two sentences that come before the call to question:

“Today, you are meeting with Jake Thompson, who is the Director for Hudson University Hospital. Mr. Thompson is looking to donate to Hudson Pharmaceutical Corporation’s drug manufacturing and research.”

That’s it… _that’s it_? That’s all the information we get? I blink my eyes, rereading those two sentences over and over again as so many thoughts come through my mind. My thoughts are briefly interrupted, though, by his voice.

“Now take two minutes to brainstorm how to approach this negotiation,” he instructs the class. And immediately, I'm scribbling down the route my thoughts are taking you on that piece of paper.

First, I write down that I know Mr. Thompson is going to add a term that gives him incentive to donate in the first place—there’s no way in hell he’s just going to donate out of “the good of his heart.” Considering that he represents a hospital, it’ll probably be requesting a certain amount of free flu shots, or certain prescription drugs that the hospital is in high demand of, per x amount of dollars he donates. I then begin to think about the most recent news I’ve heard and read of regarding drugs and pharmaceutical companies, scribbling down what I remember with what’s high in demand as of late.

Before I know it, as I’m in the middle of doing that task, time is up.

“That’s two minutes, pens and pencils _down_!” Professor Morgan says, voice clear and loud in the classroom, bouncing off the walls. “I hope you managed to at least get _something_ down.” He’s pacing in the front of the classroom, and comes to a halt before he says that. He turns on his heels, looking at the entire class. My eyes are locked on him.

_Oh, baby, look what you started._

“Miss Villanueva,” he says. “You represent Hudson Pharmaceutical Corporation, and I’ll be Mr. Thompson. Come down and grab a seat,” Professor Morgan tells me.

I can feel everyone’s eyes in the classroom on me as I get out of my seat, taking the prompt and my notebook in hand. I push in my chair and make my way through the row, then down the steps that lead to the front of the classroom.

It doesn’t help any that Professor Morgan is watching me the entire time—that his eyes move as I make my way through the classroom towards him. Once I get up to the front stop a good amount of feet away from him. He grabs one of the two computer chairs at the desk in the front and I grab the other, and I turn it towards him so our profiles face the rest of the class. I sit in my chair and I cross my legs, settling the prompt and notebook on my lap. I look up at Professor Morgan, my head held high, and my lips curl into a close-mouthed smile. He nods in my direction as he crosses his legs, resting a hand on his right knee. He turns his head to the class, looking out at everyone. “Make sure to watch and take note,” he says before turning back to me. “Now, why don’t you start, Miss Villanueva?”

 _Ah, shit_ , I think to myself. _I’m so fucking screwed. Why the hell did he have to choose me of all people?_

I suck in a breath before letting it out, placing a smile on my face. It’s by doing this that I mentally prepare myself—when I allow the thoughts I scribbled down on my paper to become forefront in my mind so I don’t have to reference those notes.

“Mr. Thompson! It’s so wonderful to have the opportunity to finally meet you in person. Thank you for joining me today,” I say, extending out my hand for Professor Morgan to shake.

In return, Professor Morgan clears his throat before returning my smile with one of his own. “It really _is_ a pleasure, Miss Villanueva. And I’d like to thank you for making the time to meet with me,” he reaches out and shakes my hand firmly for a second before I both pull away, sitting up straight in my seat.

“Now, why don’t we straight to business?” I suggest. My smile quickly fades and my lips are pressed together. I swallow, and within this quick second the precise words I want to say come to mind. “You said in our exchange of emails that Hudson University’s Hospital is looking to invest in our drug manufacturing and research. Which drugs out of the many that we make and are currently researching is the hospital interested in exactly, Mr. Thompson?” I inquire with a raised brow.

“Well, we’re interested in two polar opposite dugs, Miss Villanueva, as well as in your seasonal flu and pneumonia shots. Since the Ebola outbreak a couple of years ago, with there only being one experimental drug out there that only the wealthy essentially have access to, we’d like to invest in the experimental drug the hospital is making and trying out so we can make sure if there is another outbreak it can be ready to go and given out to _everyone_. The other drug we’re interested in is named Venlafaxine, which is used to primarily treat depression as you know. We’d like to see it become more developed so it takes much less than six months for a patient to see if the drug is helping or not since most pills for depression take that long to figure out if it is working or not.” Then, Professor Morgan chuckles a little as he starts with this next part, “And I think you know exactly what we’re interested in for the seasonal flu and pneumonia shots.” His smile lingers a bit as he looks at me, white teeth and dimples on full display.

I nod my head after he finishes, twisting my lips as I soak in all of his words. As I sit in silence for a good ten seconds, my right leg crossed over my left one, and both my hands on my right knee, his smile becomes a close-mouthed one as he continues to look at me. I try my best to keep my face and body from growing warm, so no one notices the effect he has on me—I try my best to put on my poker face

And fuck, do I manage to successfully do so.

“As you already know, both drugs your hospital is interested investing in are our largest projects, so I’m incredibly happy to hear this. So I have to ask, just so we know where to start—how much is Hudson University’s Hospital willing to invest for both drugs and the shots, Mr. Thompson?” I say, straight face, but then quickly add on, ”If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

There he is again, showing off those incredibly white and perfectly straight teeth of his as he chuckles. “Well damn, you sure like to get straight to the point, don’t you Miss Villanueva?” He bites down on his bottom lip now as he smiles.

I notice that his cheeks are just slightly—oh, just barely enough to where everyone in class can’t notice due to how far back they’re sitting from us—pink as he says this, and the color lingers afterwards too as he keeps smiling at me like that. His reaction only makes me smile and bite on my own lip too.

“Well, what can I say—I take our business very seriously, and when someone is interested in helping as many people as possible with our drugs like you are, why wouldn’t I take it seriously?”

What I wanted to actually say was completely different—what I actually wanted to say was, “Well what can I say? I’m a very straight forward woman, and when I know what I want I go right after it.” I wanted to say that and lean forward, placing both hands on his thighs and squeezing them, as I lean in close to him as I smile.

 _But I can’t do that here—I can’t do that, let alone say those words in this environment_.

“Hmmm…then since your company is taking this so seriously, which we of course love to hear, we’d be willing to invest half a million,” Professor Morgan replies, now with a straight face.

I sigh just a little and give him a slight uneasy smile. “I’m sorry, but to _really_ make progress and in a good amount of time before another outbreak happens, and because you’re also investing in our shots, we’d need _at least_ a million.”

“Half a million, but toss out investing in the flu shots but we’ll still invest in the pneumonia shots,” he immediately counters.

“I’m afraid that still won’t work, Mr. Thompson.”

Professor Morgan uncrosses his legs now, slowly putting both feet firmly on the ground, and he leans in towards me with his forearms resting on his thighs. I swallow, my eyes barley widening as he comes closer to me. He’s looking into my eyes seriously, with his lips in a firm line. I can’t help but notice how plump his lips actually are despite his beard making them look thinner from afar—can’t help but notice the strong cupid bow on his upper lip, and how strong the crease above his upper lip is even though his salt and pepper beard distracts attention from it. I notice the bit of forest green in his hazel eyes, and how perfectly it mixes together with the shades of brown.

“$750,000 is the highest we’ll go,” he says in a much deeper, strong voice.

“For all three things?” I ask, just wanting to make sure we’re on the same page.

He nods his head.

I lick my lips in thought, eyes glancing to the classroom door on the other side of the classroom behind him as I think about that—as I think about what would happen if I did accept this or the possible consequences or even good that could come out if I continue to push as I have been.

My eyes look back to him, and my lips begin to curl into a closed-mouthed smile. My fingers are stretched out and pressed against each other, and I put the palms of my hands together. I lean in closer to him while keeping my legs crossed, and I rest my chin and part of the right side of my head as I look at him. I know it—I know exactly how I’m looking at him—with soft, sweet eyes, and an angelic smile.

And I hope he eats it up like everyone always tends to do—I hope it makes him think I’m so naïve, innocent, and oblivious like everyone assumes I am because of this act I put on even though as nice and helpful as I genuinely am I am _not_ the person to fuck over.

“Mr. Thompson, let me ask—is it not our mutual goal to get this new experimental Ebola drug ready, passed by the FDA, quickly build up the quantity, and have ready to go out as quickly as possible to everyone rather than the wealthy, for whenever the next Ebola outbreak happens, which no one knows when it will? And is not our other mutual goal to help more people who suffer from depression quickly rather than how long it takes now, as to help with making sure they’re not in emotional pain for as long as it takes now to find out if a drug is working or not?”

He nods his head, and his lips pull into a closed-mouthed smile as well. “Yes, both are.” Professor Morgan furrows his brow as he looks at me curiously. “May I ask why you’re asking me this?”

I giggle a bit at his question, making him laugh as I do because of my reaction. “Because, if we have the same goal, then why not invest $750,000 solely to both drugs you’re interested in and nothing for any kind of shots?”

He laughs again, head tilted down for a moment, and then brings it back up. “You sure like to push, don’t you, Miss Villanueva?”

I playfully wrinkle my nose for a second as I give him a wide grin. “Why not, when it’s for a good cause?”

There it is—that very subtle pink on his cheeks again, as he laughs a little more. “True—I do have to respect that.”

I giggle a bit, but then my smile falls and I become serious. “So, how does that sound, Mr. Thompson?”

Professor Morgan tilts his head a bit to the side, eyes glancing up and right as he purses his lips in thought. He looks back to me and starts to slowly nod his head, “Yeah…that sounds good. Only there’s one more thing I’d like to add to it.”

“Oh,” I say, raising my brows, “And what would that be?”

“The $750,000 will be given in three different increments. The first will be $150,000 right now, the second $250,000 after we are shown and proven that there has been at least _some_ progress within one year after getting the first increment, and the remaining $350,000 once it’s been approved by the FDA and both drugs are ready for mass production. That second increment of $250,000 is conditional on there being _any_ little amount of progress proved to have been done on the drugs. So that $250,000 won’t be given out if it takes longer than a year to make any amount of progress, or won’t be given out until there is progress shown some time within a year. Which means that if you can’t get the $250,000, then you won’t be able to get that last huge increment.”

I twist my lips to the right as I glance to the side and away from him in thought. It’s better than what was originally proposed and what we had before this, I have to admit—yeah, it’s not as good as my proposal of just $750,000, but no matter what we’d still be getting $750,000 as long as we met the requirements to get that second increment.

I look back to him, and I nod as I grin. “Mr. Thompson, you have a deal!” I say with enthusiasm, standing up as I extend my hand out.

Professor Morgan grabs my hand and gives it a firm shake—I can feel him squeezing my hand much harder than the average shake, and as I look into his eyes while he does I see a mischievous glint—I see his eyes are just lightly hooded as he looks down at me. I can’t help but lick my lips and then smirk at him, while narrowing my eyes just a bit playfully, in return. He smiles wildly in return as we end our shake.

No one saw that—no one could have possibly seen that little moment from how far away they are… _right_?

I’m not sure, but after that I really don’t care and that thought leaves my mind immediately.

“Class, why don’t you give Miss Villanueva a round of applause? She did a fucking _fantastic_ job!” Professor Morgan says as he turns to face the class, and I do as well, holding his hands up in the air and beginning to clap for me. The entire class, made up of about twenty people, applauds for me while he does, and Professor Morgan turns his head to look at me with a smile. I can feel how fondly he is looking at me, and that feeling is only confirmed when I turn my head to look at him and see it for myself as he looks at me from behind those black thick-framed glasses of his—as his risen cheeks push up his glasses just slightly, making him look so adorable yet fucking sexy all at once.

Once the applause dies down, I leave the front of the classroom and walk back to my seat in the middle row. After I settle down, Professor Morgan speaks up again to resume lecture.

“We can all say Calla did a fucking good job, right?”

Everyone nods.

“But she didn’t _kill_ it—she didn’t win this one.”

I look at him with wide eyes, and once his eyes finally land on me after scanning the entire class I see him smile from ear-to-ear, and I can’t help but be irritated as hell as he does.

“Calla was about to kill it—she was _so_ close! The only area she messed up on was accepting those conditions I gave her, instead of giving me a counter-offer of accepting the increments but not having any the conditions that come with the second and third increments. And I totally would have said ‘ _hell yes!_ ’ if she would have, and she would have won this negotiation.”

I furrow my brow and cross my arms over my chest. I can feel my lips pulled down into a deep frown as my eyes move with him as he paces across the front of the classroom so casually.

“Remind me, what does it mean to ‘win’ a negotiation, Miss Villanueva?”

 _I can’t believe him—calling on me after already making me do this simulation over everyone else_ , I grumble internally.

“Winning in negotiations is incredibly subjective—since it’s all about getting what your party needs first and foremost and then trying to get all of what they want, usually no party wins since a compromise is usually reached and with that all parties are able to get all of their needs and at least some of their wants met. The only time there really is ‘winning,’ necessarily, is when a compromise is reached but somehow it gives one party a slight advantage while disadvantaging the other party in some way or another, no matter how little that disadvantage may be, or when a party gets all their needs and more wants than another party.”

Professor Morgan nods his head, and points over to me as he takes a few steps across the classroom as he paces still. “ _Exactly_! And how did you not making that counter-offer I just suggested and accepting my counter-offer disadvantage your party, Miss Villanueva?”

I want to sigh so much right now—I just want to let out a heavy sigh and begrudgingly answer, but I can’t. I know I can’t, because then people talk. Yeah, there have been people who have done that because they’re so tired of always being their professor’s go-to-cold-call, and people laugh when it happens, but then everyone always talks shit about it after that class ends.

So I don’t, and I respond quickly and firmly again.

“Because if my party doesn’t meet the conditions of the second increment, not only would we not get that one but we wouldn’t be able to get the third increment which is the highest amount of all three of them, making it completely impossible to get the work done.”

Professor Morgan claps his hands together, and then squeezes them. “ _P_ _erfect_!” he exclaims.

With his hands together like that, he takes the opportunity to glance down at his silver Rolodex watch, seeing the time. His eyes widen as he glances up to all of us now.

“ _Shit_ , would you look at that! We got so into this negotiation that we’ve gone past the class time by fifteen minutes.” Professor Morgan pauses for two seconds, clearly evaluating something he wants to say in his mind before saying it aloud. “So, why don’t we continue with and finish this lecture on Wednesday, which gives you all an extra day to get done the assignment. How does that sound?”

There’s nothing but a mix of enthusiastic answers as everyone packs up their stuff quickly. I, on the other hand, take my sweet time with putting my papers where they belong in my binder and folder, and putting everything into my bag.

“Cool! I’ll see you all on Wednesday, then,” Professor Morgan says with a wide grin.

It only takes five minutes for everyone to pile out of the classroom, for once a few people not lingering to talk while they take their time to leave—most likely because we did go over the class time by the amount that we did rather than going over by five minutes or so.

Once the last person steps out, I stand up, put my coat on, and then sling my backpack over my right shoulder. I push in my chair, walk down my row, and walk down the three steps of the aisle till I hit the floor of the front of the classroom. Once I do, that’s when Professor Morgan acknowledges me.

“Calla,” he says, and when I look over at him I see he’s sitting at the table in the front as usual, papers spread throughout that he’s grading, and he’s looking at me. “I want you to practice that same exact fact pattern with me again.” He says it so firmly—with no emotion, until he adds on last minute, “Unless you have somewhere to go, of course.” He does it, sounding somewhat unsure of himself, and that makes me crease my brows because I wonder what would make him feel like that—what about me would possibly make him feel…

“No, I don’t,” I reply as soon as possible. I feel myself instinctively stand on my tip-toes, my eyebrows raised and eyes wide—it’s a habit I’ve had for years that just happens so naturally whenever someone asks me to do something but sounds exactly as he did just now.

Professor Morgan smiles at me, and pats the seat that’s next to him that I sat in earlier for the negotiation in front of the class. “C’mere then—I promise it won’t take nowhere was long as the one took today.”

I nod my head, and I smile as I walk over to him. I place my backpack down on the floor and lean it against the leg of the table next to me, and I slide into my seat. I turn in my chair to face him just as he turns to face me. Both our feet are on the ground rather than our legs being crossed like earlier. Our knees get so close to bumping into each other, and I’m reminded of a week and a half ago when our knees and toes were pressed to each other—that day a week and a half ago when I suddenly embraced him, and he pulled me into his lap…

And my face grows so warm as I remember that moment—as that moment replays in my mind, along with how he felt against me, his deep yet calm breathing, his gentle whispers. I’m completely certain that my face is noticeably pink or red by how hot it’s becoming.

“I’ll start this time—take the load off for you this time,” Professor Morgan chuckles, and I laugh lightly too. “We’ll start right away with the first offer.”

He clears his throat, is quiet for five seconds, and immediately jumps right in.

“We can do $500,000, for both drugs and the shots combined.”

I swallow as I gather myself, and I adjust incredibly fast to negotiation mode. “I’m sorry, but we wouldn’t be able to take that—with all the work that goes into just experimenting the dugs alone, that wouldn’t get us having enough to get the FDA to test them, and especially get us to mass production.”

Professor Morgan leans a bit in his seat. He rests his elbows on his thighs and his chin on his curled up fists, looking at me. “Then what would you recommend we do in _your_ opinion, Miss Villanueva?”

I smile and giggle a bit. I lick my lips and my eyes flicker up in thought briefly. I glance back to him, my smile widening, now that I know _exactly_ where to take this. “In my professional or personal opinion? Or…both, even,” I ask nonchalantly.

Professor Morgan grins. “Personal.” Right after he says it, his nose crinkles up teasingly just a little, while his smile grows wider which makes his dimples more defined.

Oh, _fuck_ , I’m probably bright red at this point—my entire body feels like it’s lighting up as he pushes this just a little.

My smile becomes bigger, and I lean in forward to him daringly. I rest my elbows on my thighs, and I place an index finger on either side of my petite chin. “In my personal opinion…” I begin slowly, eyes locked on his, my lips pursed now instead of smiling. “Considering the wonderful, great causes the two drugs are for and the immense impact they would have on the world…I think you should go for whatever I say.”

_The temperature’s rising in here_

Oh, fuck I went _big_ —I just made the largest mistake anyone could ever do in a negotiation, and somehow I managed to be bold and daring about it.

_Been waiting and waiting for you to make a move—_

I’m not afraid of how he’s going to react—not one bit. Because I know him at this point—I know Professor Morgan pretty good even though we’re only one month into the semester. And I know considering it’s just us right now, that he was the first one to make a pretty flirty move in this practice negotiation just now, and that it’s certainly rather playful, that he’ll probably find my comment funny.

_—Before I make a move_

And he does—he does as he laughs, shaking his head and rubbing his hands on his cheeks. “Fuck, Calla—you are the damn _epitome_ of straightforward!”

I laugh as well, my smile so wide making my eyes squeeze together so tight. His hands slide down and off his as I do, and he rests his elbows back on his thighs and clasps his hands together.

My laughter goes away but my smile stays—but this time I crank up the charm and flirtatiousness of it. I don’t think at all—not for a single split second do I think as I automatically reply while leaning forward _much_ more.

“Well what can I say? I’m a very straight forward woman, and when I know what I want I go right after it,” I say in a low voice, my hands landing on the bottom of his thighs.

I did it— _fucking FUCK_ I just did _exactly_ what I wanted to do earlier in the middle of class during this!

_One one-thousand._

It takes just one second—just one second for what I said (fuck, more like _what I **did**_ ) to hit me like a ton of bricks, my smile gone and my eyes completely wide. I immediately pull my hands off his thighs, clearing my throat as I squeeze them together near my chest.

“ _S-Shit_ ,” I stutter under my breath, “Fuck, I’m sorr—I’m sorry, Professor Morgan.”

I look into his eyes, with my eyes large and my brow furrowed with complete worry and concern.

He’s not meeting my gaze, and as he glances to the side I can see his cheeks glowing bright red. The apple of his throat bobs up and down slightly as he struggles to swallow. I wonder if his heart is pounding just as fast and loud as mine, if not more—if his chest and throat are completely constricting and making it hard to breathe—if he’s starting to grow warm lower down…

Professor Morgan turns his head from me and looks to the back and center of the classroom. I can’t help but wonder why, and what exactly he’s looking at. I glance out of the corner of my eye, seeing the only thing in the back really worth of attention—the camera that every classroom automatically has in it that’s only turned on whenever a professor decides to record the lecture for that class and informs the class that it will be recorded. When it is recording, the light is red, but when it’s not the light is blue.

_Bright, dark blue—the light is blue._

My eyes flicker back to him, and a second after I do his head turns back to face me and he’s finally looking into my eyes.

_So baby, come light me up—_

He doesn’t say anything as he leans in close, arms extending out to me, hands reaching out. I blink my eyes as I watch in utter and complete confusion, keeping my hands squeezing each other tight right against my chest still.

That’s exactly what he grabs—he grabs my hands, my tiny child-sized hands with his large ones that are nearly three times the size of my own. He separates my hands from one another as he pulls them away from me and towards him. He places my hands back on his lower thighs again, pressing my palms down so firmly into him.

My mouth grows dry as I feel the tight muscles in his thigh of his slim and lean, yet strong legs. My eyes stare back into his, trying to ask him what the hell is going on.

“Professor Morgan…” I mumble under my breath, not sure if he even heard.

“Don’t be sorry, Calla,” he whispers to me, squeezing my hands.

Where is this going—oh _fuck_ , where has this entire moment _going_?

I turn my hands underneath his so my palms are now against his. I lace our fingers together and lift our joined hands up. I’m intent on separating them—intent on letting him go and saying how we shouldn’t—how we shouldn’t…

_—And maybe I’ll let you on it_

But I move our joined hands closer to me. I turn them so my palms are pressed against the back of his hands, and bring them down so they’re on my upper thighs. I try my best to press down on his hands into my leg, my eyes looking down as I do so.

Just when I thought my face couldn’t grow any hotter by the simple feel of his hands on my upper thighs, the mix of his soft yet rough skin on my bare legs since I’m wearing a dress—just when I thought I couldn’t grow any warmer not only throughout my entire body but in my lower regions…

He squeezes my upper thighs _tight_ yet so _gently_ and _affectionately_ —he squeezes them, the tips of his fingers pressing into the sides of my legs, his fingernails going from red to white from how much pressure he’s adding to me.

My eyes instantly look up at him. My stomach churns and I start to ache down there as I’m met with his hooded, affectionate-yet-lust-filled, hazel eyes that somehow look darker in this moment. When I do look into them, he squeezes my thighs just a bit more.

“Calla…”

He says my name this time, just as I said his earlier.

I relish in the way it escapes his mouth in a breathy, deep, and low whisper—I cherish and replay the way it sounds with a shaky sigh that connects and follows to the sound of the last “a” in my name.

“Are you okay…with…?” Professor Morgan asks slowly.

I nod my head a bit. “I…I….” I let out a tiny breath as I struggle how to say the easiest words, “…like it,” I admit, staring at him with my doe eyes. I bite down on my bottom lip as hard as possible in anticipation. I bite down on it so hard, hoping I puncture it and draw blood, just so the bit of pain and burning sensation that comes from it could distract me from this…

But I’m unsuccessful. Part of me is even thankful for that.

Professor Morgan scoots his chair up till our knees are pressed firmly together. His calves hook around mine, pulling mine tight with them, keeping them intertwined as he looks at me.

“Good because I do, too,” he replies in a low voice—how is he so sure and confident of himself while I’m—while I’m like a teenager girl with her first crush…

I dip my head down, and squeeze my eyes as tight as possible. I press his hands that are still wrapped around my thighs further into me as much as I can.

I do until I bring his hands off my thighs, bring my head back up with my eyes open, and unhook our lower legs.

I scoot my chair back just enough so I can stand up. As soon as I rise up I turn around and turn the chair back to how it was, pushing it into the desk. Professor Morgan stands up from his chair and does the same thing too.

I turn my head to look at him after I do, my hands gripping the top of the chair still, and I study his profile as I see him looking down at the desk so intensely, with his lips in a defined frown and the small crease in between his eyebrows incredibly deep from how much he’s furrowing them.

 _What are you thinking? What’s going on in that swirling mind of yours_? I wonder internally.

I let go of the chair and turn to him, raising my arms up from my sides and extending them to him. I wrap them around his side, squeezing him as tight as possible into my torso.

Professor Morgan’s entire body relaxes under my hold—his heavy breathing becomes lighter. He’s no longer frowning and no longer furrowing his brows—I have no idea what facial expression he has going on this time, since I close my eyes as I grasp onto him.

He turns in my arms so he presses the front of his body against mine, and wraps his arms around my waist. I feel his chin and half of his cheek press against the top side of my face, his soft yet scruffy beard pleasantly brushing against my skin. I He lets out a long and slow, shaky breath that runs over my skin one centimeter at a time. My cheek is pressed to his chest, my ear right above his heart, and I listen as it’s erratic beating begins to slow down and become a steady pattern.

“I like this…I like you, Calla.”

I didn’t realize that his head was dipped down lower, all the scruff on the side of his face brushing against the whole of the side of my face—I didn’t realize that his breath has been hitting the nape of my neck while his lips hover right above my ear—I didn’t realize because his heartbeat was soothing me, and it’s all I can hear—it’s all I can feel.

When he says that sentence slowly like that, his smooth and soft lips brushing over the shell of my ear, a large shiver runs up from the bottom to the top of my spine.

I squeeze onto him tighter and lace my fingers together that are around his back—as tight as my small and slim arms will allow me. My cheek squishes against his chest as I do, but I don’t care one bit.

“Professor Morgan, I—“

I pause, squeezing my eyes as tight as I can. Is this—am I…? _I am—I really am. Oh fucking Jesus Christ on a goddamn stick_.

I suck in a breath and open my eyes. “I do, too. I do, too,” I finish at last. I feel his cheek that’s against my face rise up as he smiles after I do, and that makes me smile as well.

But after holding onto him for another thirty seconds, my eyes now wide open and staring blankly off at the empty classroom, I quickly let go of him and take a step back. I swallow as I bend down and grab my backpack off the floor, putting one strap on my right shoulder. Professor Morgan watches me with an incredibly defined creased brow of worry, with bright brown, hazel eyes mixed with light green that are filled with adoration, affection but conflicting feelings of confusion and want.

“I—I should go,” I stutter nervously aloud. “I’ll, um, see you Wednesday. I’ll be at the campus Starbucks, if you…want to join me again,” I say.

Professor Morgan nods his head, and now that confusion and worry is gone as he smiles at me. “I’ll see you there, Calla. Get home safe.”

“I will,” I nod my head, and I give him a small smile. “Have a lovely evening, Professor.”

His cheeks become red after I say his name, and I’m completely certain that my skin is flushed pink with how hot I’m feeling from this entire _goddamn day_.

I turn around and walk across the front of the classroom to the door. As I push it open and walk out of it, I turn my head back over my shoulder to look at him—to look at him one last time.

And as though he knew—as though he knew, or perhaps was wishing and pleading that I’d look at him one last time tonight with pure and genuine adoration—Professor Morgan is looking at me and his lips start to curl into a soft, close-mouthed smile, as I look back at him while walking out the door.

I turn away once my fingers slip off it, and let it close as I walk away from him and down the hall.

* * *

**Spring Semester, Week 4**  
_7:15 P.M., Friday—Office Hours  
_ _Professor Morgan’s Office_

I knock on his partly open door, after seeing that no one other than himself is sitting in his office so that way I’m not interrupting a meeting with someone or an appointment with a student of his. Despite the fact that we had coffee together again at the Starbucks on campus, and it was just like how it was last time—incredibly comfortable silence, while we both read or work, with the occasional sharing of comments, I didn’t get a chance to ask him a question I considered to be somewhat important. So I decided to drop by now, fifteen minutes before class, since I knew he’d be here that way I could ask him said-question.

“Come in,” he calls from his desk.

As I push the door open gently, I see him sitting at his desk, glasses on and head tilted down, hurriedly writing something down on one of the many sheets of paper scattered about his desk. He’s wearing navy button down shirt, with the first button undone, and black slacks. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, exposing his long forearms. I can’t help but notice how prominent his veins are—how incredibly slim yet toned his arms are, and as well as how tan his skin is. I lick my lips as I take a couple of steps inside, shutting the door as I continue to look at him simply by reaching backward with one hand and pushing it.

Professor Morgan lifts his head and looks at me with his brows raised. He’s still holding his pen, letting it hover just above the paper as he looks at me.

“Oh, Calla!” he remarks excitedly, smiling as he sets the pen down and slides his glasses off, setting them to his right on the desk. “I wasn’t expecting to see you in office hours today, considering you’re way past where we are right now with the assignment,” he chuckles.

I laugh lightly as I walk over to his desk. “Yeah, yeah, I know—your little over-achiever and all,” I say with rolling my eyes teasingly as I take a seat in the chair in front of his desk and place my backpack on the floor. I clear my throat as I close my legs, and lean slightly to the right in the chair with my legs angled towards the left. “There was a question I wanted to ask you since Tuesday, but I haven’t had a chance to since we haven’t been…”

I don’t have to finish, considering I see the recognition on his face. “Ah—yeah,” Professor Morgan says with a nod, eyes downcast now. “I know what… you mean.” He licks his lips and glances back up at me. “So what did you want to ask, now that…?” I notice him lean his head over slightly to the right, making sure his blinds are closed. Then he goes back to looking at me.

I furrow my brow in confusion—why was he checking to make sure no one could see us? There’s no way in hell anyone could know about us…was he checking because he wants to…?

I swallow and press my lips together. My eyebrows stop creasing, and I look at him with somewhat serious eyes. “So I finally finished _Emma_ ,” I say, as I lean forward, opening one of the large pockets of my bag and taking the book out. I place it on his desk, in the middle, once I do get it out. “I thought I’d return it, and ask if you want to get coffee tomorrow morning to talk about it.”

His smile grows incredibly wide—he’s just beaming at me with joy, and he gives me one simple nod of his head. “Yeah—I’d like that, Calla. 10 AM, at Sweetleaf?”

I like the way it sounds rolling off his tongue—how it is so sweet, and just subtly filled with excitement. I nod my head in agreement to the time and date

_And I like the way he looks at me—his eyes never leaving me, as if he’s trying to memorize me in this moment—like he’s trying to keep this engrained in his memory…_

“Well,” I say, standing up. “I’ll see you in ten minutes,” I flash him a smile as I grab my backpack.

“Oh, _I will_ see you in class, doll.”

He has a wide, left-titled smirk plastered across his face, with narrowed eyes on me, while holding his glasses in one hand by the end of one side.

I bite down on my lower lips slowly, trying to control myself as my entire body begins to burn, and I shake my head at him. I turn around and walk to the door, and as I leave and completely shut it I don’t bother to turn around one last time.

_Because this isn’t one last time—this is nowhere close to being one last time between us…_

* * *

_9:45 P.M.  
_ _Room 227_

Fifteen minutes—this time, it takes fifteen minutes for the swarm of five women in our class who are asking him “for help” finally leave.

“Help,” my _ass_. Considering their constant giggling while he answered their questions and joked around with them, because that’s Professor Morgan for you, they’re not asking for help to _actually get help_. That, and the hushed whispers I’ve managed to pick up on them saying in the midst of class about him and in the halls.

God, _anyone_ would be able to notice that—so why isn’t _he_? Does he even _care_?

I sit in my seat, my backpack completely packed up and ready to go sitting in the chair to my right, as I read another book I started last night after having finished _Emma_. I glance up as I hear their talking suddenly cease and the door shut, finding that all five women have finally left.

And as I notice this, my eyes flicker to Professor Morgan, moving with him as he walks up the steps of the right aisle while looking at me—I watch him as he turns down my aisle and walks to me, till he pushes the chair with my backpack on it backwards and now stands next to me.

“You waited?” he asks, lifting a brow. His eyes leave mine briefly and look up—to what, I have no idea, but I am curious yet again as to what he’s looking at that’s in the back of the classroom other than that camera that isn’t even on ninety percent of the time.

“Mhm,” I say. I dog-ear the page I’m currently on and close my book. I turn in the computer chair I’m in to my backpack sitting in the chair behind me, and place the book in one of the pockets. “Is that bad?” I ask.

I look up at him as I stand up—as I pick up my backpack and slide it onto my back with ease. Professor Morgan smiles at me and shakes his head. “No, not at all. Why don’t we go to my office, and I can answer any questions you have there?”

I nod my head and smile back at him. “Yeah, that sounds good,” I agree.

Him and I both leave the classroom together and walk down the all-too-familiar path to his office that not only have we taken several times on our own, but together.

As we walk down the corridor his office is in, I notice how all the lights for all the other professors offices on his half of the corridor are half—how all of them are except for his, which has some dimmed lighting in it. Professor Morgan unlocks the door and we both step inside, and he shuts it behind us.

“So, why _did_ you stay?” Professor Morgan says, breaking the perpetual silence between us. My back is facing the door, while his body is turned facing mine.

I swallow, and I feel my head begin to burn—I feel my head begin to tingle and burn all over it, and it hurts _so much_.

Because I’ve been caught—because this is the reaction my body _always_ gets whenever I’ve been caught for anything.

I bite down on my lip as I gaze into his firm eyes. “You really want to know?” I ask, as I slide my backpack off and place it in a chair he has beside the door.

He nods his head. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t want to. So, why don’t you share, _Calla_?”

The way he says my name—how he says it with a simple yet sexy click of his tongue. It makes me involuntarily shiver, and when I do I can’t help but internally chew myself out for letting my guard down enough for him to see the effect he has on me.

I open my mouth, my eyes looking at him with determination. My voice is incredibly firm, while still just a little high-pitched as it tends to get when I’m _really fucking waaaaay too nervous_.

_—But baby, that’s how I want it_

“Because—because…I like talking to you. I like talking to you before and after class—I like _being_ with you, no matter what it is. You could want to go and seriously swim with sharks, or—or try to climb up the Statute of Liberty and jump into the Atlantic Ocean with me, and I’d still do both with you. I _still_ would. Whatever makes up the _being_ part when I’m with you, I don’t care—I would never care.”

I swallow and take in another breath.

“And I’m clearly not blind—well…” I laugh for a bit, shaking my head, “ _some_ people in my life would beg to differ and say you could make and give me best glasses in the world and I’d still somehow manage to misread everything.”

I lick my lips and quickly continue.

“But that’s beside the point! I’m not blind, and I’m also certainly not deaf—I _hear_ what’s said amongst the walls of this school about you—I see what’s turned into simple glances into starting to care for you whenever they try and talk to you—“

“Whose ‘ _they_ ,’ Calla?” he interrupts me, slightly tilting his head up at me.

“Those girls in our class that stayed late today—hell, nearly every female student here. Then there’s pretty much every single female faculty member.”

Professor Morgan drops his head down halfway through my answer, and shoves both his hands into the front pockets of his slacks. I see him shift his weight from his heels to his toes repeatedly, and lick his lips while he stares down at the ground absentmindedly. “Continue.”

I do as I’m instructed to do. Thank god I’m almost done though...even though I’m reaching the most difficult part of this.

_A little less conversation—_

“Everyone is attracted to you, Professor Morgan,” I continue. “Everyone is, and they talk about it—talk about you and your intellect—your handsome looks—your insanely sexy, deep voice. And I—I…“ I pause for two seconds, and I close my eyes for that amount of time only to reopen them once I pick back up. “…I would be lying if I said that I’m not attracted to you, because I am—because I am attracted to every single thing about you— _because_ —“

_—And a little more touch my body_

I’m cut off, and I feel the breath in my lungs nearly being kicked out of me as I’m met with the feeling of my back being slammed against the hard, wooden surface of his office door. My eyes blink rapidly while staying widened as his hands tightly grip my shoulder, squeezing down on me _hard_.

I’m caught off guard as his now mocha eyes with dark hints of green sprinkled about in his irises stare into my eyes firmly—as he keeps me pressed here against the door, with barely any space between our bodies. I can barely breathe, because whatever air I try to suck in and let out through my slightly parted lips keeps hitching in my throat— _I can barely breathe and **oh my fucking god** how am I still alive right now_?

“Professor—“ I finally speak up, but he interrupts me yet again.

“Don’t, Calla. _Don’t_ ,” he says in a whisper. “Don’t continue, because if you do I don’t think I—“

I can feel it all—feel the sputtering beat of my heart that’s going just as haywire as I am internally—feel the rapid rise and fall of my chest as my breathing becomes short and rough—and I can especially feel his thumbs digging into my skin just below my collarbone, and the tips of his other fingers on my shoulder blades.

And through it all— _oh, through it all_ —I can feel how I’ve been gazing at him this entire time change. Because I can feel my bottom lip begin to quiver, and my eyes burning significantly more than the rest of me—because I can feel the moisture in my eyes suddenly surface, trying to break through and run down my cheeks in streaks.

I can see my vision blur within one second as those tears prick my eyes, sitting on the edge ready to come out as I fight them off.

I know I’m looking at him differently this time, too, because I see his eyes soften just as my vision begins to blur—because I can see his eyes somehow become lighter in this moment, and his lips in a straight line although their corners are subtly pulled down—and I can feel his tight grip on my shoulders loosen slightly, making me sigh happily aloud.

I know it, too, because he stops this endless amount of staring into each other’s eyes by pressing his lips to mine. And, perhaps, this is the one thing out of everything that’s happened today that _really_ has me tripping and stumbling everywhere.

It’s a not a rushed and hurried kiss—no, his eyes are closed as it starts off as being feathery, his lips just slightly parted as presses them to mine, as if wanting to make sure he’s not doing anything I don’t want him to.

I close my eyes immediately as his parted lips barely brush against mine that are pressed together, and as I part my lips a little I add a bit more pressure into the kiss.

It’s that pressure, though, that turns this kiss into something much more than _innocent_. Because my lips start to tingle as I press mine back against his—it feels as if lightning is striking every inch of my lips, and that feeling spreads throughout the rest of my face as I kiss him back.

_I’m on the edge of no control_

My arms circle around his neck, while his hands leave my shoulders and he places them on my hips now, squeezing and clamping down on them. This is when the kiss makes a huge turn because after I part my lips and add that bit of pressure, Professor Morgan responds by pushing my body further into the door with his hands on my hips, while I pull all of him into me. Our bodies press against one another as we kiss deeply—as his lips wrap around my bottom lips, his tongue running over it before he starts to nibble and suck.

_Grab on my waist and put that body on me_

After I yank him in closer, one of my hands goes up to cup the left side of his face, and I relish in the feeling of his beard pricking at the soft skin of my cheeks and the skin surrounding my lips. I relish in the feeling of his face, with such soft skin, and his beard against my small hand. And as I cup his face like this, with my thumb moving back and forth along his jawline, his tongue finally slivers into mouth. The kiss becomes much deeper at this moment and is transforming into being rough. I subconsciously roll my hips forward and yank down on him _hard_ into me at the added contact.

_Everyday I’m discovering something brand new—_

He lets go of my hips and his arms come around my lower back, pressing my body incredibly tight against his. His tongue buries itself in my mouth, and the kiss becomes wild as our tongues battle it out.

That’s when our hands start to crazily run of the other’s body. Mine leave his face and neck, running up and down his toned back. Meanwhile, his hands slide underneath my blouse. His fingers are spread completely wide open, their tips pressing so firmly into me as he runs his hands _all over my back_.

_—I’m in love with your body—_

_Fuck_ , I think to myself. _Fuck me, oh my— **fuck!**_ I internally go off in my mind. Just as I do, I move my hands and sliver them in between us, having them on his chest. But I don’t run them up and down his clothed torso—instead, I quickly untuck his shirt in the front and slide my hands underneath it. I hear him just barely sigh against him, and as if that simple little action of mine has somehow made him more _needy_ and _rough_ with my body. Because his hands on my back move so their on my sides, and navigate to the front of my body.

_—I’m in love with the shape of you_

My hands slide out from under his shirt and immediately go to the top button of his button-down, undoing it. At the same time, I can feel his hands come to my breasts, taking them into his hands and giving them a firm squeeze. I moan a bit in our kiss as I wrap my leg around his waist. In return, he presses his groin and torso further into me, adding much more pressure to my back that’s against the door. He puts on leg in between my parted legs now that he has the flexibility and room to, and I moan again as I feel the added pressure of the top of his thigh against me and because he squeezes my breasts again before starting to massage them. My hands, now starting to tremble, get to the fourth button of his shirt and I manage to undo it.

“Profess—“ I start to say in the kiss, my tongue no longer out and my lips brushing against his while I suck in air desperately, “—or Morgan,” I manage to finish. Once I do he presses his lips hard against mine again.

But then he breaks the kiss, catching his breath just as I was earlier, speaking up as he does so. “ _Calla_ , we—“ he says and I press my lips to his again, running my tongue over his bottom lip, “—we— _fuck, I_ —“ Professor Morgan presses on my body again as he deepens the kiss.

_We push and pull like a magnet do_

“I know, _I know_ ,” I say when I interrupt our kiss, only to slam my lips against his again. “But— _“_

This time, now that I broke the kiss again to say that, I dip my head down and press my forehead against the middle of his chest while I catch my breath. My hands on his fourth button move up to be against what’s exposed of his chest. I spread my fingers about only to squeeze the thick, dark, and wild curls of his. As I do, and our bodies remain as they have been with each other, his hands leave my breasts and come back down, circling his arms around my lower back. He pulls me against him, and rests his chin on top of my head. I feel his chest is moving up and down rapidly just as my own is as we try to catch our breaths.

I reluctantly step to the side, leaving his embrace without a single word. I smooth out my blouse with both my hands, my head turned down as I do. I take two steps to the side and grab my backpack, only sliding one strap over a shoulder. When I turn to face the door, ready to make my exit, I find that Professor Morgan’s head is no longer turned down, but is up and angled towards me, and his hands are in his pockets. His navy shirt is completely untucked, hanging loose and certainly enhancing this long, lean, yet broad body that I am incredibly attracted to.

His eyes have been watching me this entire time, just as I anticipated. He looks at me with his lips in a slight frown, with his forehead slightly wrinkled, and his eyes filled with disappointment and guilt, but that adoration and care is still in them that only adds to his clear disappointment. And as he looks at me this way, even though I had expected for him to be watching me this entire time, I didn’t expect… _this_. I didn’t expect for it to make my chest ache, and my entire body freeze up.

But in all honesty, I didn’t anticipate he’d be looking at me in any certain way, just the fact that he would be watching me. So no matter which way it was, I probably would have found that my legs refuse to move—that it’s incredibly hard to breathe all over again, but in the worst way due to this anticipation and tension between us—and that no matter how hard I try I can’t speak up, just as I am right now.

Somehow, my legs finally find the strength and courage to move, and I take those last two steps towards the door. Professor Morgan is still facing the door, and because he’s in the same spot as before I have to angle myself to the side so I can leave.

I place my hand on the handle and push down, starting to leave.

“ _Calla_.”

The door is still shut since I had yet to push it open. I let go of the handle at the sound of my name from his deep voice. I turn my head to him, seeing that he’s still looking at me the same way.

“Still good for coffee tomorrow?”

He bites down on his bottom lip in anticipation, and I see the look in his eyes change—see them change to pleading for me to say yes—pleading for me to _stay_ —while that care and adoration remains in them.

“Yeah,” I nod my head, and give him a small close-mouthed smile.

I push down on the handle and the door, my head turning away as I walk out. I shut the door behind me, and for a moment I press my back against the wall that’s beside his door. I shut my eyes as I stay here for a brief ten seconds, working on catching my breath and slowing my heart down as I wonder what the fuck just happened, what the fuck I just did, and why the fuck I allowed myself to do it.

I open my eyes at the end of those ten seconds and push myself off the wall. I walk down the hallway intent on getting out of the building and to walk the four blocks to my apartment that’s in Brooklyn, my mind completely blank as I do so.

_And all I want to do is to fall in deep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently starting my second semester of law school as of tomorrow, so I'll try my best with juggling updating this as well as Best Mistake, and this multi-chapter Beth/Negan (Began) fic I've had plans to work on since November. I know it took me such a long time to update this time around, but I hope you all can understand considering that latest chapter I posted for Best Mistake and some of the one-shots I wrote and posted as well. 
> 
> I hope ya'll are having a lovely 2017 so far, and I'll try my best to write and post another chapter soon! :)


	7. When You're Ready...

**Spring Semester, Week 4** **  
**_7:15 P.M., Friday—Office Hours_  
_Professor Morgan’s Office_

She stayed— _she stayed_.

It’s been clear this past month, since the first day of the semester, that there’s something between us—that whatever _it_ is, the very foundation of it is clearly physical attraction. But it’s built up from there, and become deeper—it has on a  _mutual_ level.

And as it has, I’ve reminded myself countless times the ever-present conflict between us—that conflict which would ruin the rest of our lives if we ever acted upon whatever _this_ is amongst us.

“Everyone is attracted to you, Professor Morgan,” she continues. “Everyone is, and they talk about it—talk about you and your intellect—your handsome looks—your insanely sexy, deep voice. And I—I…“ she pauses, closing her eyes. “…I would be lying if I said that I’m not attracted to you, because I am—because I am attracted to every single thing about you— _because_ —“

But it seems as though, in this moment, that thought doesn’t come to me as it usually does—that my subconscious seems to block it out, as I feel a tight knot form and squeeze in the pit of my belly.

I don’t think as my eyes look into her innocent, doe eyes—as her plump lips just barely part—while I slam her against my office door with my hands on her shoulders. I see her lashes flutter as she blinks, looking up into me with so much confusion and shock across her face and in her eyes.

I can barely breathe—I can barely think as I gaze into the depths of her milk chocolate brown eyes, and the amber that surrounds her pupils in them—as those very eyes look into my own appearing so sweet…

“Don’t, Calla. _Don’t_ ,” I whisper. “Don’t continue, because if you do I don’t think I—“

 _I don’t think I can contain myself. I don’t think I can hold myself back—_ ** _control_ ** _myself. Because if you dare to continue, I’ll fall off the edge of no control that I’m already standing on by the arch of my feet, rocking back and forth, with any breeze being just enough to push me over._

I squeeze her shoulders more, feeling the tips of my fingers press so much into her hard shoulder blades, while my thumbs feel her soft skin beneath them. I swallow as I continue to stare down at her, finding her eyes begin to fill with tears. And I feel my heart grow heavy—I feel my heart weigh down and drag my entire body.

 _Calla_.

I want to look away from her, but I can’t will myself to.

 _Calla_.

I want to let go of her and walk to my desk, ending this for the sake of us—even if…

 _Calla_.

…Even if there is a slight chance that she’d be willing—with me…

I part my lips, wanting to say her name—wanting to say her name with words that follow after to make _this_ come to a stop.

But I can’t bear it— _I can’t bear it._ I can’t bear the thought of having to let go of her—of having to stop seeing her in this light, like I have for the past month.

 _I can’t bear the thought of stopping something_ **_that might be_**.

My eyes begin to close as I lean into her slowly, wanting to give her time to back out if she wants to. But she doesn’t as my eyes close when my lips brush over hers that are pressed together.

Much to my surprise, she doesn’t pull away but rather adds pressure into the kiss with her lips. _It’s not much, but it’s just enough…_

It’s enough to make the deep pit of my stomach and my lips to be set to fire—for those very flames to spread throughout my face and down my neck—up my torso and down lower—through my legs to my feet—through my arms to the tips of my toes. It’s enough to make my entire body feel like I’m on fire.

I lower my hands to her hips, squeezing them as I press my body further into hers. Calla’s arms wrap around my neck, pulling me in closer to her as well. I suck on her bottom lip in between mine, run my tongue over it, and even nibble occasionally.

Those very flames grow brighter and stronger when she suddenly yanks me in closer. Her small hand comes to the side of my face, her fingers stroking over my beard, and her thumb running along my jawline.

But it’s the moment her tongue slips into my mouth that I feel the past month’s worth of lingering gazes—of eyes trailing up and down her delicious and curvy body—of her sheer amount of intelligence and her daring self turn me on—finally burst out.

_Everyday I’m discovering something brand new—_

Because it’s when her tongue slides into me that her hips roll against mine, making her pussy grind against my cock that’s starting to harden against her. Calla yanks down on me again with her arms that are wrapped around my neck.

 _Oh, fuck_ —the tension from her body alone, and the tingling that grows more from those actions make my arms circle around her lower back and press my body impossibly closer to hers. My tongue rolls and runs all over her tongue as we battle it out.

My hands slide underneath her chiffon blouse, fingers spread wide as I run my hands all over her back. I press the tips of my fingers especially into her, getting to feel her incredibly soft skin even more. I feel my eyes roll back in my head as hers run up and down my back—especially on my shoulders.

_—I’m in love with your body—_

I sigh as she untucks my shirt from the back and her hands meet my bare skin—as she joins in running her hands all over my skin, like I’m doing to hers. I move mine now up to her sides, navigating to the front of her body. Meanwhile her hands slide off my back and come in between us, to the top buttons of my shirt, starting to undo the buttons.

_—I’m in love with the shape of you_

_Oh, fuck!_ I think to myself as my hands come over her breasts, taking each in one hand and squeezing them. When she moans against me and instantly wraps her leg around my waist in return, I instinctively press my groin and torso more into her now that I can get closer. I grind my hard dick against her lower region, sighing into our kiss at the growing pleasure from that action alone. But then I lift my leg up so I can press her more into the door with the force and weight of my body, and my upper thigh comes in between her parted legs and right against her pussy when I do. I massage and roll her breasts in hands, listening as she moans again.

“Prof—“ I hear Calla say into the kiss, her lips barely brushing against mine as she does, “—or Morgan,” she finishes. But I press my lips hard against hers again, not wanting to hear it— _not wanting to event think about it._

But now that she’s started to interrupt it, I do think about it—I do, and it won’t leave my mind. It becomes forefront as I squeeze her round, perky breasts again—even when I do that _it just won’t fucking leave._ So I break our kiss, catching my breath.

“ _Calla_ , we—“ I say, but her lips press to mine again, her tongue running along my bottom lip, cutting me off.

“—we— _fuck, I_ —“ I barely say and then deepen the kiss.

_We push and pull like a magnet do._

“I know, _I know_ ,” Calla says when she interrupts our kiss, and her lips press hard against mine again. “But—“

It’s clear that she’s having the same internal battle I’ve been met and dealing with for the past month—it’s apparent that she wants to ignore it as much as possible in this moment, too, _but it just won’t leave her alone._

Her lips leave mine and she dips her head down, her forehead pressing to the middle of my chest, which is exposed since she undid quite a few buttons. I feel her hands on my chest, fingers squeezing on the hair there, and all I want to do is kiss her again. All I want to do, as she remains like this and pants—as her breathing remains hot and heavy on my skin—is fuck her right against this door.

But my hands leave her breasts because that _damned reminder_ echoes in my mind again. I circle my arms around her lower back, rest my chin on her head, and pull her against me. My heart races and my breathing is just as heavy as hers as we try and catch our breaths.

Calla steps to the side and leaves my arms without saying anything. I turn my head, watching exactly what she does. She grabs her backpack and slings it over one shoulder as she usually does. I put my hands in the pockets of my slacks as she does, waiting for her to finally look back at me.

Then she finally turns back to the door, facing me.

And that’s when I’m forced to face her—to face  _reality._

_And she’s forced to face me—to face reality, too._

My eyebrows are slightly furrowed and raised, making my forehead wrinkle, and I can feel my lips being pulled down into a slight frown. I dip my head down a little lower, letting out a small breath—because once again, I feel my heart grow heavy and weigh my body down. My hands in my pockets curl into tight fists, squeezing together.

I look back up at her and don’t look away again. I keep my eyes on her, wanting to make sure she sees me—wanting to make sure she sees what I’m feeling and why, especially _why_.

Because at this point, she’s no longer _just_ my student—hell, before this moment I don’t think she was _just_ my student. There was always something a little… _more_ —something that I’ve been looking for, yet have only encountered and gotten the chance to cherish only two other times in my life.

But that something is standing before me, frozen in place, unable to look away as well.

 _See me—see how I feel—_ ** _feel_ ** _how I feel, Calla._

I swallow as those two other times come back to my mind—as those two other women from my past come to my mind. Calla is nothing like them, and doesn’t remind me of them at all. But how she makes me feel, both internally and externally, is how they made me feel—and how she makes me feel is what I’ve chased after ever since I experienced it with the first one.

But she takes a step forward, and her legs move as she walks to the door. Her back faces me as she pushes down on the handle, about to leave…

" _Calla_.”

I finally manage to say it—I finally manage to say her name—hell, I finally manage to say _anything_ to get her goddamn attention.

And I do get her attention, because she doesn’t open the door and bolt out; instead, she lets go and turns her head to look back at me.

“Still good for coffee tomorrow?” I ask. I bite down on my bottom lip as I wait for her response.

 _Stay—please, just stay, Calla. Don’t think—we don’t have to think about it. Just…_ ** _feel_ ** _with me. Just…_ ** _stay_ ** _with me._

“Yeah,” she says with a nod and a close-mouthed smile.

Calla’s head turns away as she opens the door. She walks out and doesn’t look back at me once, even as she shuts the door.

I let out a low breath once the door clicks shut, and I bury my hands in my hair. I swallow and bring them down to my face, rubbing them over my scratchy beard. I shut my eyes, and when I do flickers of what just happened replace the dark as they flash before me.

I open my eyes and I turn around, walking to my desk. I plop down in my chair and drop my hands to my lap, squeezing my thighs tight as I stare forward at my office door.

_And all I want to do is to fall in deep._

* * *

**Spring Semester, Week 4  
** _9:50 A.M., Saturday_ _  
_ _Brooklyn, New York City, NY_ — _Sweet Leaf Coffee Shop_

Luckily he picked a spot that’s only two blocks from my apartment, so I was able to wake up later and take a bit longer to get ready. And today couldn’t be a better day to meet in a cozy coffee shop to talk about _Emma_ , considering when I woke up to get ready an hour ago I was met with the sound of raindrops hitting the window beside my bed.

I’m dressed in tight, dark denim jeans and black boots that come up to my knees. On top I’m wearing a black, floral button-down blouse with a warm, gray, sweater cardigan on top. Over that I’m wearing my long and black raincoat. I decided to leave my hair down and keep it natural, and just do a little bit of brown eyeshadow with black eyeliner on my top eyelid only, and a bit of mascara.

When I come to the coffee shop, I turn to walk into it, and close my umbrella before I open the door and slip inside. Even though it’s so close to my place, and even on the walk to campus, I’d never seen or heard of this place before. I smile as I see the decor as different shades of brown, with warm shades or red and bronze mixed in. Although it’s a rather small coffee shop, I can see why he chose this place. My eyes flicker about, taking in the sight as I look for him among the few people that are here.

I pause once I see him sitting towards the back at a two-person table. His glasses are on the bridge of his nose, and his head is tilted down reading a book. His legs are crossed, with the hand holding the book resting on his top knee, and his other arm has his elbow resting on the table, the tips of his long fingers near his lips.

I swallow, looking at him—I realize this is the first time I’ve seen him outside of campus.

I glance down at my watch.  _9:55 A.M._ He’s probably not expecting me to be here by now; why do I have to be such a stickler when it comes to being on time? I twist my lips as my stomach begins to tingle and burn, and as my face grows warm.

I suck in a breath.

I take one step forward, followed by another.

The another step, followed by yet another.

And suddenly I’m there—I’m there, just approaching his table, smiling down at him as I slide into the seat across from him, so far seeming unnoticed by him. I take _Emma_ out from where I was holding it under my coat and place it down on the table.

As I shrug off my raincoat, he brings his head up. My head is turned to the side, giving him full view of my profile, as I take my coat off. I glance over to him as my arms slide out of my coat, and when I find that he’s looking at me with raised brows and wide eyes, I can’t help but give him a sly smirk.

He flicks his wrist, looking down at his watch for the time. Then he looks back up at me.

“You’re early,” he simply says—nothing else, his tone flat.

“Mhm,” I reply as I place my coat over the back of the chair, my body twisting around so I can. “I’m quite a stickler for being on time.” Then I put my purse on my chair by it’s strap.

I turn back around to face him, flashing him a smile when I do.

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that—it’s a good quality to have, _trust me_ ,” Professor Morgan smiles.

My face grows warmer, and I’m sure I’m blushing a bit at this point—or maybe it’s because I just came from being outside where it’s cold and into here where it’s extremely warm...yeah, maybe it’s because of that…

But regardless, I continue on. “So, here’s _Emma_ back,” I say, both my hands pushing the book across the small table towards him. “I hope I didn’t damage it too much, considering I was reading it while eating and drinking coffee pretty often,” I giggle.

Professor Morgan chuckles in response as his large hand comes over the book, sliding it towards him. My hands let go of it once he does and I bring them back to my side of the table, laying my palms flat against the cool wood. He picks it up, briefly giving the book a quick look through, before placing it back down. “Looks just fine to me. Books are meant to be worn down and damaged—it shows that they’ve _actually been read_ ,” he smiles.

I nod my head in reply, not sure what to say—not exactly sure what to even do. Especially since just last night…

_Rough, calloused, yet somehow soft hands roaming my body, grasping my breasts. His entire body pushing mine roughly back against the door of his office. My hands gliding over his toned back and chest…_

“What do you want to order?” Professor Morgan asks, breaking the silence.

I blink my eyes, coming back to reality from the memories of last night. “Oh, um, you don’t have to—really, Professor Morgan. I can order and pay for myself,” I smile weakly.

“ _Shit_ , Calla, it’s just a coffee,” he laughs, “It’s not like you’re gonna owe me a kidney or something.”

 _He’s right_ — _stop overreacting just because of last night_ , I remind myself. _Look at how normal_ — _he’s acting he’s acting as if nothing happened. Why can’t you do the fucking same?_

“Sorry,” I shake my head. “I have a bad habit of wanting to do things on my own, ya know?” I bite on my lower lip and turn my head to look at the menu where the baristas are on the other side of the coffee shop.

“How about just four shots of espresso, with a bit of half and half and sugar?” I say. “Keep it simple.”

“You got it!” he grins as he stands up, walking over to put in our orders.

I watch as he leaves, seeing that he’s wearing jeans for once, with a white button-down shirt. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms. I lick my lips at the sight of him walking away, my eyes glued to him.

But then I turn my head away and face straight, sighing aloud now that I’m alone for now. _How the fuck am I going to make it through this, after what happened last night? And now the_ **_fuck_ ** _is he acting so calm and as if none of it happened?_

I turn my head a bit, glancing out the window that’s next to us. Although all I can see is the brick wall of the building directly next to this coffee shop, and the small alleyway in between these buildings, I absentmindedly stare out it anyway. I’m looking at each raindrop that lands on the window, and the ones that either slowly or quickly trickle down till they disappear. And as I do, I can’t help but think about yesterday—about how slowly things built up to that moment, yet how once it happened we lost all control...to where _I_ had to be the one to reign us in.

As Professor Morgan comes back, setting down my cup of coffee in front of me, and keeping his in his hand as he sits down, I turn my head to face him. I reach forward and grab my large to-go coffee cup and bring it to my lips, closing my eyes and smiling to myself as the sweet,  _sweet_ smell of the bitter espresso fills my nostrils.

“There’s something to the rain, isn’t there?” Professor Morgan says, and I open my eyes to look at him. His head is turned towards the window, gazing just as I was a few seconds ago. Despite the city being cloudy and rainy, there’s a bit of sunlight that manages to sneak it’s way through the clouds and spill in through this window, illuminating his hazel eyes. The dark green in them is now bright, while the medium brown is a warm light brown that captures my attention.

“Yeah, there is,” I respond, and I join him in looking out the window. “It’s like the world comes to a standstill for once. The world and everyone in it is washed over for just a small period of darkness, only for the light to come back—and it makes you appreciate the light all that much more.”

“You just put into words how it makes me feel,” he chuckles, and I turn to look at him. We’re both smiling at each other.

“Does it rain often where you’re from?”

I furrow my brow for a second as he unexpectedly asks his question. I thought we would be talking about _Emma_ for most of the time rather than ourselves.

“Yeah,” I nod my head. “I’m from Eugene, Oregon, where the University of Oregon is. Now that I think about it, that’s probably why I love it when it rains in the city so much…”

“I’m from Seattle, so I know exactly what you mean,” Professor smiles softly.

“How long did you stay there, if you don’t mind me asking?” I daringly ask, not thinking twice about it before I do.

His smile grows wider as he looks at me. “You can ask me anything, don’t worry, Calla.” I feel my face grow warmer as he says this, and I take a sip of my coffee while he replies. “I stayed where till I was eighteen, then I moved down to LA for college. After that, I went to Yale for law school. Then I found myself out here directly after law school, working in one of those high-rise buildings.”

“Seems like you’ve always been drawn to the cold and rainy weather no matter where you’ve gone—except for LA, of course,” I grin.

Professor Morgan chuckles and nods his head. “Now that you point it out, it seems like I have. So where did you go for undergrad then, Calla?”

“UCLA,” I say. And when I do, I see him staring back at me with wide eyes in disbelief.

“UCLA?” he asks, licking his lips.

“Yup, UCLA,” I nod firmly.

Professor Morgan laughs and a wide smile surfaces on his face. He runs his hands over his beard before putting them down on his lap. “That’s my alma matter.”

“Really?” I reply, sitting up a bit straighter. “That’s seriously a coincidence,” I laugh, and he does as well.

“Yeah, it really is,” he swallows and then shakes his head in disbelief. “Wow, um,” Professor Morgan clears his throat and his chuckling only continues on for a bit. He glances down at _Emma_ , then, and presses his index finger to it. “So what’d you think of the book?”

Him and I sit there and discuss all of the characters of the book, as well as the plot. We go on and on, and as the conversation naturally carries itself I find that not once do I think about leaving—there’s not a single instance where I think about what time it is. Usually I do—it’s such a natural occurrence for me to do considering how much reading, case briefing, and assignments I have to constantly do and can’t get done during my externship during the week usually.

But I don’t with him. I find my cheeks to eventually hurt from how much we’re laughing and smiling—I find myself instinctively leaning in closer, and notice that he does as well.

And I find myself admiring the lines that crinkle around his eyes when he smiles—how white his teeth are every time he gives me the pleasure of seeing them fully exposed with a smile—his hands that move about wildly as he gets overcome with enthusiasm while talking.

I find myself admiring all of him.

Eventually, I change the subject from being about _Emma_ to him—it’s only fair considering he asked questions about me earlier.

“So, um, I’ve been meaning to ask you, Professor Morgan,” I say, both of us more settled down and not as enthusiastic as he had been before. “I’ve been wanting to go into family law and specialize in negotiations and mediations within that field. How did you get into negotiations?”

I watch as he leans back in his chair, sighing aloud as he smiles. I can hear and see his hands, which are on table, fall to his lap. His eyes are looking elsewhere, and his head is tilted up against the back of his chair, as if he’s becoming overcome with nostalgia. I blink as I watch him, shifting a bit in my seat as I wait for his reply.

“See, you— _you_ , Calla—have good intentions. You have nothing but good intentions—just you _saying_ what you want to do with negotiation shows that you mean nothing but the best!” Professor Morgan says, smiling, but then his lips form a straight line. “I wasn’t like that when I first started off.”

I furrow my brow in confusion.

“Remember how I said I worked in one of these high-rise buildings, here in the city, right after graduation?”

I nod my head.

“I worked not in just one, but _most_ of those buildings. Nearly every big corporation—you name it, I worked for it.”

He shifts to cross his legs, bending his right knee and placing that foot on his left knee. Professor Morgan folds his hands together in his lap, looking at me. As I stare back at him, lips slightly parted in awe, he presses his lips more firmly together as he nods slowly.

“I did until I decided one day, after I got so fucking sick and tired of the _bullshit_ I had to cover up and do, which frankly wasn’t fucking helping _anyone_ , I quit and was able to get hired as a law professor. Since then, I’ve been teaching at this same law school.”

I remain silent, unsure of what to say back.

“Honestly, what made me want to go into this was the money. Back when I was starting, this was an area that not many specialized in. I knew I could fucking make it, so I took advantage of that. Ethics didn’t matter to me—nothing else fucking mattered. I…”

He trails off now, brow furrowing, and he glances down at his lap. In this moment, I see a tinge of sadness show through—see something dark and deep from his past creep up on him that he’s trying to suppress and hide.

Professor Morgan lifts his head back up and smiles. “Anyway,” he continues, “that’s why I actually wanted to ask _you_ something for a chance, Calla.”

I look back at him with wide eyes as I feel my heart suddenly speed up. _Oh, God, I_ **_hate_ ** _when people say that, or ask me if they can ask me a question. Like for fuck sake, just spit it out already! Enough with this anxiety._

“Yeah?” I ask softly in response. His smile only widens more.

“You really did a good job with that exercise in class yesterday—it tells me already the kind of role you’re going to have in the class’s first simulation on Monday, which is that you’ll probably end up naturally taking over and leading it. I really do think this is the area for you to go into so far,” Professor Morgan pauses for a second. “I was thinking—what would you say about having a mentorship for negotiations and mediations, with me as your mentor?”

My throat feels dry as I stare back at him with my eyes the size of dinner plates. That was the _last_ thing I considered him to ask— _no,_  that was something I didn’t even _consider_ that he’d ask me.

“Of course, you get credit for it—it counts as a full course, and you won’t have to do any work with it. Just practice with me, that’s all—I can even go over some of my old cases with you, taking you to sit in on some negotiations my friends still lead at the companies I use to work for, anything really.”

“Yes!” I agree instantly, nearly jumping out of my seat with excitement. I blink and glance around as I see a couple of heads turn in our direction thanks to my slightly loud response. I feel my cheeks burn as I do and look back to him, seeing Professor Morgan laughing. “I mean, yes, I’d like to,” I say much more calmly now, my voice lower than it’s been this entire time we’ve been together.

“Good,” he replies with a nod, still smiling at me. “How does Monday and Wednesday, before class at 6 PM sound? I’ll fill out the paperwork and everything for you to have it count as a class—don’t worry about that.”

I nod my head and smile at him, filled with so much joy. “It sounds perfect. Thank you so much.”

I can’t stop smiling, no matter how much my cheeks hurt. And I don’t stop smiling till his smile falls and he glances to the side. I suck in a breath as this silence comes in between us—I can’t even hear the chatter of others in the coffee shop in the background. All I can hear and concentrate on is this protruding silence.

“ _Calla_.”

He says my name softly, and I look back to him. He’s looking back at me with eyes filled of sadness.

“Yeah?” I reply.

“I just wanted to, um,” he clears his throat, “apologize about yesterday. I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have…” Professor Morgan’s voice grows much quieter at this point, and his eyes glance around at those in the shop before he continues, “kissed you last night. It’s completely against the professor-student relationship, even in grad school. It shouldn’t have happened and I just—I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that…”

He’s leaning forward in his seat, his hands locked together on the table.

“No,” I shake my head, barely smiling. “Don’t apologize. I actually—I actually was hoping it’d be brought up, because _I_ wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have either—it’s a kiss—it’s both our fault. I’m just as equal in taking part in it as you are. So, _I’m_ sorry, Professor…”

I dip my head down, looking down at my lap, watching as I nervously rub my thumbs together. I don’t want to look up—I don’t want to look up and see his reaction—continue to see those deep, guilty and sad eyes bore into mine.

“You realize…” he speaks up, “that...it can’t happen again, right?”

I lift my head back up, and I am met with exactly that—exactly what I thought I’d see. The little bit of sunlight that seeps in through the window, making one eye much brighter than the other, disappears as the clouds swamp it out finally. All that’s left is darkness sweeping over the sky, only making his eyes look more down than they already are. And I hate it— _oh, I hate it so much_. I don’t know why it makes my own eyes begin to burn as I slowly nod my head in reply.

“Yeah—Yeah, I do,” I say quietly, almost in a whisper, as I nod my head. I bite down on my bottom lip as I look at him—as I watch him press his lips together while I try and dull the burning sensation that I know is warning me of tears to come.

I stand up and decide to slide on my coat, followed by my purse. He does the same thing, putting on his peacoat. I grab my umbrella that’s on the floor afterwards and we walk out together, throwing away our plastic coffee cups on the way.

When we step outside the coffee shop I open my umbrella and hold it up over us. Because of our height difference Professor Morgan has to bend down a bit, making his face become much closer to mine. I look at him and bite down on my lower lip as I try to forget how much my eyes are stinging—how my nose is tingling, too, because tears will come soon if I don’t manage to make it stop.

“I’ll see you Monday, 6 PM then?” I ask.

“You got it,” he replies with a smile.

I want to kiss his cheek— _I want to kiss him._

It’s only fitting, isn’t it? It’s only fitting because this, in a way, feels somewhat like a coffee date—like a first date you have with someone you’ve just been set up with so you go to a coffee shop, and it’s ended well and you had a good time so you end it with a kiss…

“Have a good weekend, Professor,” I say with a kind smile. He nods and takes a step back, no longer under my umbrella.

We separate, walking down on the same sidewalk in opposite directions—I back to my apartment, and him...I’m not even sure.

_I didn’t know that I could want you so deep._

* * *

**Spring Semester, Week 5  
** _6:00 P.M., Monday—1st Mentorship Session  
_ _Professor Morgan’s Office_

I show up at 6 PM right on the dot, and I approach his office only to find that the door is wide open. I stand in the open doorway and knock, leaning forward a bit as I look at Professor Morgan, who is on his desktop computer. He continues to click away on the mouse and doesn’t even nod. All he does to acknowledge my presence is say, “Come on in, Ms. Villanueva.”

So I walk in, making sure to shut the door behind me, and take a seat in front of his desk. I place my backpack on the floor and let it lean against his desk. As I settle into the seat and get comfortable, Professor Morgan turns in his chair to face me, his lips pressed together before they pull into a small smile with his brows raised. “Sorry about that—just had to finish up something,” he begins. “So, you ready to get started?”

“Yeah! Let’s go for it,” I reply with a grin.

We spend the next hour and twenty minutes going over some of the material he’s already taught in class, but much more in depth. Professor Morgan has me practice a bit on some of the things I messed up on when we had that exercise in class together, and although the entire session I try my best to focus on the material and becoming better, I can’t help but feel slightly tense.

I can’t help but feel that way, because I’ve been thinking about Saturday morning since we parted ways. I would be case briefing for another class, and I’d think about it. I could be cooking or in the shower, and I’d think about how the light that leaked in through the clouds and window hit his eyes, illuminating them and showing me the best details that no one else gets to see—his deep, gravelly voice and laughter that makes my body tingle while somehow making me feel like I’m at home all at the same time.

There are moments of silence that slip in between the two of us, and I can easily pick up on the fact that they’re not like those initial moments of silence we shared just five weeks ago—nothing like it at all.

It’s full of awkwardly trying not to make eye contact—trying not to remember that heated moment and burning touches from Friday evening.

At the end, we both walk to class, but I walk much farther ahead of him.

 _There’s no time to speak our minds_ — _we need to put our frustrations on hold._

* * *

_9:30 P.M._

I decide not to stay and linger after class, like I’ve been doing this entire semester. I decide to leave right away, walking out by myself with everyone else, making my way through the building, walking to take the subway back home to my apartment.

Even though today the entire class period was spent doing the negotiation simulation we’ve been prepping for this entire time, and I wound up naturally taking over and people pushing me into the leadership role throughout the duration of it, after what’s happened between us...I knew it was best to go.

I knew it was best not to stay around and talk to him—not to let it drag on anymore.

But I can’t help but feel like my body is a little heavier as I do leave without even glancing at him as I walk through the classroom to the door—without even looking over my shoulder back at him.

* * *

** Spring Semester, Week 5  
** _7:30 P.M., Wednesday  
_ _Negotiation’s Class, Room 227_

_Young teacher, the subject—_

He can’t—he needs to stop himself from continuing to look over at her whenever he turns to the class to lecture and call on someone to answer a question.

_—of schoolgirl fantasy._

He can’t—he needs to get her off his mind _desperately_. Because that’s all she’s been doing—all she’s been doing since Saturday is occupying his mind. From the look of her sparkling, eager brown eyes, to the very simple flip of her curly hair or even a simple and small lock of hair that hangs in her face when it’s tied up—she’s all that keeps coming back to his mind.

_She wants him so badly—_

Professor Morgan has been having difficulty keeping his thoughts from going to Calla Villanueva, and when his mind does go to her he has difficulty forcing his mind to think of something else. The subtle twitch of the corners of her lips as they pull into a cocky smile or smirk, telling him she’s had a brilliant idea or understanding of the material come to her mind, always catches him off guard in class.

_—Knows what she wants to be._

And today is no different, even in the midst of lecturing. Especially when he turns around and sees hands raised, desperate to answer a question that a student he called on randomly is failing to answer themselves.

_Inside her there’s longing—_

She can’t—she needs to stop herself from continually watching him as he paces the front of the classroom while leading the class, glancing at him up and down even when he turns around to write something on the board and subtly licking her lips at the _pure sight of him_.

_—This girl’s an open page._

She can’t—she needs to stop allowing him to occupy and take complete dominion in her mind. She could be sitting at her desk, reading and briefing the cases for her next class, which has nothing to do with negotiations, and he’ll pop into her thoughts. From the wrinkles around his eyes that crease and fold every time he smiles or even smirks, to the way his tongue slips between his lips to dampen them a bit—he’s all that keeps coming back to her mind.

_Bookmarking—she’s so close now—_

Professor Morgan turns around to face the class after writing up a general tip on the board that everyone is furiously typing away on their laptops. His eyes glance around the filled room, looking for a person to call on to review the next case.

“Ah, Mr. Williams. Why don’t you start us off with _United States v. Apple, Inc._?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

Immediately Kevin Williams does start to go over the facts of the case Professor Morgan asked for, and while he does Calla can’t help but twist her lips in thought.

Once Kevin is done going over the facts, Professor Morgan speaks up again, “Now what did you get for your issue statement?”

Her lips twist a bit more as she chews on the inside of her cheek.

“I got, ‘Under Section One of the Sherman Act, was Apple conspiring to increase the price of e-books with five book publishing companies?’”

She bites down on her lower lip.

“Hmm…” Professor Morgan licks his lips for a second in thought, “Could be improved. Anyone else want to read their issue statement aloud for the class?”

Her hands shoots up immediately, eager and proud to read hers out, along with three other hands.

His eyes glance about, but he can’t help but immediately look at her based off the habit he created for the past month of doing so. Professor Morgan’s eyes immediately look away from her and to the left as he reminds himself to do anything _but_ call on her, because it’ll surely distract the both of them much more…He needs to break this awful habit of calling on her often and usually looking at her first.

“Miss Carter, how about you, then?” he says with a simple smile.

_—This girl is half his age._

As Calla lowers her hand slowly, her face falling flat as she looks to her peer as she recites her issue statement, she can’t help but feel…

_Her friends are so jealous._

But feel...irritated, ignored...She can’t help but feel like she’s beginning to grow pissed even.

_You know how bad girls get._

She looks to Professor Morgan, watching the visual reaction his face, as he thinks about her issue statement. Calla watches as he glances up to the ceiling in thought before slowly nodding his head. “Yeah—yeah, I’d say that’s the case right there in a nutshell. Good job, Miss Carter,” he smiles before asking Kevin to continue with the case.

_Sometimes it’s not easy—_

And as the rest of class continues, Calla Villanueva feels her anger and irritation grow each time Professor Morgan makes eye contact with her but decides not to call her name out to answer a question.

As the rest of class continues, Calla Villanueva even allows those very feelings and emotions to show through her straight face every time he sees that her hand is raised to answer a question and decides to call on someone else.

_—To be the teacher’s pet._

And as the rest of class continues, until the very end, Professor Morgan consistently reminds himself to do everything but call on her—to not look at her or allow his gaze to linger when his eyes meet her own.

But it’s so fucking hard—Christ, _it’s so fucking hard._

_Temptation, frustration—so bad it makes him want to cry._

Once class does end, she packs up immediately and leaves as soon as possible like she’s did last time. And as she descends down the aisle to the front of the classroom, Professor Morgan looks since her face and figure capture his attention as he erases what he had written on the board during class.

He blinks, watching as she does walk down the stairs, wondering if she’s going to stop this time to talk to him, even if it’s only brief…

Her head is lowered, eyes looking down at the steps to watch her footing, till she gets past the last step. She lifts her head up, eyes meeting his and seeing that he is looking over at her.

“Professor Morgan,” Calla speaks up, sounding as innocent as ever, while walking towards where he is. His back is facing her as he lowers his hand from the board, until he turns around to face her.

“What can I do for you, Miss Villanueva?” Professor Morgan asks her, tilting his head up a bit as he does. She stops in front of him, making sure to leave the proper distance between them.

_Loose talk in the classroom—_

“I just have a quick question,” she tells him with a small smile.

He licks his lips, trying to calm himself—trying not to allow his ever-quickening heart get to him.

“I just need to know…” Calla says, looking away from him and at their surroundings before looking back to him and lowering her voice, “...could you, perhaps, go a bit _harder_ on me next time?” she asks, eyes glancing down to his _lower_ region before looking back up at him, “Because I didn’t find today’s material very hard at all—didn’t seem very difficult, really, and I…”

She licks her lips before continuing, a sly smile surfacing on her face, “I like to be challenged— _need_ to be challenged _inside and outside_ the classroom…”

His throat grows tight as he listens to her—oh, _especially_ as he has to lean in and listen to her incredibly quiet voice to catch and process her words. He finds that his palms are beginning to grow quite warm and sweaty as he swallows, trying to gain his composure enough to answer her—trying to think of _some_ answer that won’t…

 _That won’t make this more difficult for the both of them, really_.

“Well,” Professor Morgan says, smiling uneasily, “I’ll try my best to, how about that? But for now why don’t you try and look at these cases that we’re reading through different lenses on how _you’d_ negotiate them out yourself and everything?”

_—It’s no use, he sees her._

A small sigh slips off her lips as she nods her head. “Yeah...yeah, that sounds fine to me,” she replies with the nod of her head.

“Good night, Professor Morgan,” she says with a close-lipped smile before turning away, walking to the door.

And as Calla Villanueva makes her exit and he watches her, hoping that she’ll turn around and look at him once more before leaving the classroom—hell, even give him a tiny smile—Professor Morgan feels his heart and chest grow heavy when she doesn’t turn around and allows the door to shut behind her as she walks off.

And as Professor Morgan watches her leave, and she can feel his pleading gaze on her all the while, Calla Villanueva fights the want and need to turn around and just simply allow herself to look at him once more—hell, even only for a split second—as she walks to the door, opens it, and walks right out of the classroom.

_It’s human nature—whose to say what’s meant to be?_

_Why can’t we be on our worst behavior, when it comes so naturally?_


	8. ...Come & Get It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long it's taken me to update this time around! I've been super busy with this semester of law school, while trying to find an apartment to move into soon (which I successfully found and will be moving into in one month), and getting an internship for the summer locked down. 
> 
> But I hope ya'll can understand, and the content and length of this chapter will make up for it this time around! ;) I hope ya'll enjoy the 12,521 words and 22 single-spaced pages that this chapter is!

**Spring Semester, Week 5  
** _6:00 P.M., Friday—Office Hours  
_ _Professor Morgan’s Office_

_You and I, and nobody else—_

With an assignment coming up that’s due next week as our preparation for our next negotiation simulation, I decided to schedule an appointment today during his office hours to go over the research I’ve done so far. I want to make sure I’m on the right track, after all. I need to make sure I maintain where I’ve been since the semester started, and keep up with my performance while getting better.

After going through and making small talk with Evelyn, the secretary for all the professors who have offices in this particular corridor of the building, I make my way to Professor Morgan’s office. I take long strides, walking down this hall that I’ve come down far too many times—this hall that I could describe to you in every detail with my eyes closed, to how the specks of gray and light brown in the dark carpet, the eggshell white walls, even to how the smell of fresh and hot paper from the copier seems to always fill my nostrils the moment I step in.

I’m wearing a black, high-waist skirt; black semi-opaque tights; black combat boots with faux fur inside them; a black, cropped turtleneck that hugs my curves and chest; and a long, olive green, just slightly puffy coat which stops to the middle of my thighs.

My eyes flicker about, from one wall to the other, as I make my way down the hall. I look at the movie posters of all the popular films that have been about lawyers, litigation, and law school that hang about. It’s a small quirk I’ve loved about this area in particular, and although I’ve been in this corridor so many times I still manage to spot a poster for a movie I hadn’t seen or even heard of before.

When I get closer to where his office is at the very end of the hall, I notice that his door is shut and his blinds are open for once. I stop right outside, I step to the side so I’m not standing in front of the long and narrow window so he can’t see me. I look through it, wondering if he has another student he’s meeting with so that way I don’t interrupt. I’m not sure way—fuck, I don’t even want to think about why—but I feel a wave of relief subtly wash over me as I see the chair in front of his desk for visitors completely empty. My light and chest feel temporarily light and airy, and my cheeks just barely rise as I smile to myself.

I turn to his door now and knock lightly, my eyes glancing up to the ceiling as I wait for a response. I don’t hear him tell me to come in as he usually does—instead, I hear him push his computer chair back, the wheels rolling along the carpet, followed by the sound of the chair moving as the pressure from his body leaves it. His footsteps come next, soft at first and growing heavier and much more profound the closer he gets.

It’s once the door starts to open, and he’s standing in the doorway with it completely open, that I allow myself to look away from the ceiling at him. My lips curl into a close-lipped smile when my eyes lock with his. His eyes widen a bit in return, and somehow I see them grow a bit brighter. I watch as his crow's feet become more defined as he gives me a full smile, and I feel…

I feel my chest start to warm up—I begin to feel the middle of my belly heat up.

Today he’s wearing black slacks, with a navy-blue button down shirt tucked in, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as usual. And the pure sight of him like this—oh, the view of him smiling at me how he is, with his eyes appearing so much softer and a lighter shade of brown than I’ve ever seen them before, makes the burning sensation in my stomach that much more intense and noticeable.

_—Feeling feelings I’ve never felt_

“Miss Villanueva,” he greets me, “Come on in,” Professor Morgan says, stepping to the side, holding the door open for me. I notice he says it rather fondly—in a way that tells me he knew I was coming—that I scheduled this appointment and he’d be seeing me, and was looking forward to it regardless of the reason for why I decided to.

We haven’t spoken since the end of last class, when I somehow strung together the particular words I decided to, in that precise tone even…

_“I just need to know…could you, perhaps, go a bit harder on me next time? Because I didn’t find today’s material very hard at all—didn’t seem very difficult, really, and I…I like to be challenged—need to be challenged inside and outside the classroom…”_

“Thank you,” I reply and step inside his office. As I’m walking towards his desk I hear the door close, then him turning and starting to walk across the room. I set my backpack down on the floor and lean it up against his desk, take off my heavy coat and place it over the chair, and sit back down; all the while Professor Morgan is walking to his desk, coming around it and sitting back in his chair. He rolls it forward, and stops to give himself just enough room to lean back and place his right ankle on his left knee. I look up at him as I cross my legs, finding that he’s lacing his fingers together and resting them in his lap.

“So, Miss Villanueva, _what can I do for you_ **_this_** _time_?” Professor Morgan asks, and as he ends his question I notice the slight playful wrinkle of his nose as his lips curl into a daring smile.

_“What can I do for you, Miss Villanueva?”_

That exact question—the exact way he said it yesterday, before I said what I did, echoes in my mind. I press my lips together, trying to keep from smiling as much as I’m aware of the fact that he knows that I picked up immediately on why he asked me that in that particular way just now…

_The way you got me under your spell—_

“Well,” I begin, bending over in my seat and to my backpack, opening one of the many large pockets and taking my binder out for his class. I place it in my lap as I reach into the back of the front side-pocket, taking out what I’ve had done so far for the assignment. “I was hoping you could take a look at what I have done so far, for the assignment that’s due next Wednesday.” I place it on the desk, extending my arm out as far as I can before pushing it towards him. As I do, I notice that he doesn’t lean over so much—doesn’t try to make contact with my hand as he’s done nearly every time we’ve met.

_—Don’t you keep it all to yourself_

I push this moment to the back of my mind, choosing to ignore it and not read much into it as I bring my hand back to me. I close my binder and place it on my lap, then look back up to him.

 _Ignore that, Calla. Fucking ignore it. You both agreed it was a mistake—that it couldn’t happen again. So just fucking ignore it,_ I remind myself.

Professor Morgan shakes his head at me as he sighs aloud. “Of course...I should have thought that’s why,” he chuckles lightly. “I figured after how well you did last night, which was pretty much fucking _perfect_ and it was the first assignment and simulation, that you wouldn’t be coming back in for help with the rest of the assignments.”

I blink, and my hands that hold onto my binder start to grip it tighter. My lips part just a bit as I look at him, not sure what to think—not sure what to feel, let alone how to reply.

 _You fucking idiot you’re overthinking it! He meant that as a compliment, not a goddamn dig_ , I internally snap at myself.

 _But what if he didn’t? What if it was meant to be a dig, just like earlier with the question? C’mon, you deserve it after what you said to him at the end of last class_ , my other internal half replies back, as if my mind is starting to turn into the whole angel-devil trope.

“Oh, uhm,” I swallow, and try to give him a small smile. “Well, you know me! ‘Miss Perfectionist,’ remember?” I laugh lightly. “And anyway,” my smile falls now as I allow myself to be honest—to not hide how I’m feeling and want to initially react one bit anymore, “It’s still different from anything else I’ve done before, ya know? It’s a law school class, sure, but it’s not like any other class. I just…”

My lips twist in thought, trying to figure out the next words I want to say.

“I just...I need to make sure I do well—I _have_ to. I need that certification at the end of this, and a top grade in the class. It’s the deal the firm I’ve been externing for since June made with me—that I get hired as an associate immediately after I get my J.D. and pass the Multistate Bar, so long as I get my certification for negotiations and get one of the highest grades in the class.”

I let out a sigh and squeeze my eyes shut as I shake my head. “Sorry—sorry! I shouldn’t have just... _dumped_ this on you just now—”

“No, no, no,” Professor Morgan immediately interrupts me, and when I open my eyes I see him begin to sit up straight and place both feet down on the ground. He leans in forward a bit in his seat, his elbows pressed against his thighs, and as he looks at me through his glasses I see that his eyes are still shining brightly, but filled with... _empathy_?

“Don’t be sorry, Calla.  _Never_ be sorry, got it?” Professor Morgan says sternly. He sucks in a breath as he sits back up straight again, and rolls his chair forward till he’s completely close to his desk. He leans forward, staring into my eyes.

“Remember how I told you about briefly about my prior work?”

I nod my head.

“I had a deal just like that—had an associate position lined up for me at Goldman Sachs so long as I stayed in the top ten of my class when I graduated with my MBA in Business and JD, and passed the Multistate Bar the first time around.”

My brows begin to just barely pull in together as I look at him—as I really,  _truly_ look at him in this moment.

“I know... _I know, Calla_.”

The way he says it—how he says it the deepest I’ve ever heard his voice be, while he _truly_ looks at me in this moment. As he says it, with the whites of his eyes slowly turning red, his light brown eyes starting to shimmer and glisten from the light fluorescent light and water that begins to fill them up.

_I want to reach out and grab your hand—I want to reach out and squeeze it tight, as we allow ourselves not to fight it back._

And just like that, the red is gone—the bit of water I witnessed filling his eyes disappears suddenly, too. As if it was never there to begin with—as if this moment of him allowing me to see him as bare, and exposed as I ever have, never happened in the first place.

I swallow as I will myself to fight back the burning starting in my eyes—just as he did now—just as I did on Saturday before parting ways, and saying that—saying _this_ —could never happen again.

“Thank you…” I reply in a low voice. I look at him, hoping he hears that I mean it—hoping he _sees_ it as I stare into his hazel eyes that won’t leave mine.

Professor Morgan clears his throat a few seconds later, and we both glance away from each other finally when he does. “So, why don’t I look at this, and I can email you recommendations and any edits some time tonight or tomorrow?”

I nod my head. “Yeah! Whatever works—really. I just appreciate all of your constant help.”

“It’s my job, remember?” Professor Morgan smiles, laughing lightly. “But thank _you_ , for being so _appreciative_ all the time.”

I bite down on my bottom lip as my brow furrows a bit, trying to pick up on his tone and why he enunciated and said those two words slowly just now. I can’t tell—can’t tell if he means it to be suggestive, or as a dig…

_Do you need to tell yourself yet again, Calla? Don’t. Fucking. Over. Think. It._

His smile changes a bit I notice as I pull myself away from my thoughts. It becomes smaller, his lips coming back together, as his eyes narrow on my just a bit.

“And you really have been appreciative—especially at the end of last class, _Calla_ ,” Professor Morgan says, making sure to say my name slowly, as if trying to tantalize me.

_And you were thinking he might actually not say anything about it, you fucking idiot._

I bite down on my bottom lip, and I’m not sure why but this is my initial reaction—to slap on a fake halo above my head, bat my lashes, and play dumb. Of all fucking things to do…

“Hmm? What do you mean?” I ask, my voice coming out much too soft and high-pitched for me.

Professor Morgan chuckles, biting down on his lip too as his laugh dies down. “See, now _that’s_ also why you interest me—you’re so fucking daring, you realize that? And I don’t think most people notice that…” His smile still lingers as he continues, “So cut the _crap_ and stop playing dumb with me, and be _fucking careful_.”

His voice isn’t stern—it isn’t heavy and serious to tell me that I’m getting my ass handed to me right now for this shit that I have been, admittedly, pulling—and intentionally, at that. It’s playful—it’s him pushing the boundaries back. This is only confirmed by the fact by the small spark I see in his eyes as he narrows them on me, and that cocky left-and-up slanted grin of his I know all too well.

I lick my lips slowly at his reaction—I do as my mouth starts to inch back into a large, arrogant close-lipped smile, and crinkle my nose up just a bit before replying.

“And what happens if I’m not careful, Professor?”

He remains silent for a few seconds as we look at each other like this—as the obvious sexual tension that has always been between us, but has been absent this past week, skyrockets up.

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” he finally replies, voice deep and low, and my ears pick up on the subtle sound of his heavy, throaty breathing that follows immediately afterwards.

I giggle a bit as I place my binder back in my backpack and zip it up. I stand up and put one strap over my right shoulder, as I usually do, and look down at him while I stand up.

But instead of remaining seated, he rises up from his chair, now completely towering above me, forcing my head to crane back and look at him, while he tilts his down to see me.

“I’ll see you very soon, Miss Villanueva.”

“Until then, Professor Morgan,” I reply before turning around and walking to the door.

When I open it, and begin to slip out, I turn back to look at him over my shoulder. He’s still standing, arms crossed over his chest, the veins in his forearms protruding out, as his lips curl back into another left-tilted smile.

My cheeks rise as I give him a small smirk before turning my head away, shutting the door behind me as I leave his office and walk down the hall to leave.

_You’ve got me playing in a game that ain’t fair. But you’re taking me there—you’re taking me there._

* * *

_8:00 P.M.  
_ _Negotiation’s Class, Room 227_

Today we spend time learning more about going over important negotiations in history, such as the Panama Canal Negotiation and the Iran Embassy Hostage Negotiation, and why each was successful or failed in different ways. And like most classes, Professor Morgan jumps from student to student, randomly calling out each last name and asking a question about the facts of a certain negotiation, or even that student’s opinion, before continuing to lecture on.

And this class—I notice that this time not only is he _finally_ calling on me again, but he’s calling on me more than _any other student_.

I can’t help but take enjoyment in this—in knowing that as I answer each question he throws at me out of nowhere, answering it perfectly every time, that everyone in the room is gawking at me.

I can’t help but take enjoyment in noticeably being his favorite all again.

But I especially can’t help but take _pleasure_ in knowing that—in _seeing_ and _hearing_ —he’s subtly playing with me with every remark he makes when he says my name and after I answer.

For instance, Professor Morgan calls on me now, asking me about the importance of cultural differences when the U.S. engaged in negotiations with Japan over the dispute Japan was having with China over the Senkaku Islands.

“Miss Villanueva, why don’t you tell us in what ways U.S. negotiators said they struggled when talking to the Japanese?” Professor Morgan says, pausing in the middle of starting this prime example of a negotiation that’s happened within the past few years.

“Well, they found and realized how striking it was that the Japanese would stick strictly to business, and not even respond to any of the jokes made by American negotiators. And despite how much they thought that wouldn’t affect negotiations, it did because it made the situation awkward and tense for American negotiators, and created a hurdle for them to overcome that they never anticipated from the beginning.”

“ _Exactly_!” Professor Morgan responds enthusiastically, with a wide smile. “And what effect has that made on the U.S. Ambassador program since?”

“Training ambassadors on cultural differences and how to overcome them in negotiations, or simply just day-to-day conversation and tasks.”

“Well, well—look at who _actually_ did the reading!” Professor Morgan says, clearly passive-aggressively to those students he called on earlier in class who refrained from answering. “Another fucking _good job_ —I might as well stick to calling on you for the rest of class so you can pull everyone’s weight at this point,” he chuckles.

There’s nothing but awkward, low, and tense laughs that fill the room in response to that comment—everyone is clearly on edge after how blatantly obvious it is that he’s upset that no one is taking the time to read the material.

But especially in how much I’m his favorite—his go-to-student—because he’s making that more obvious than ever before.

Class only continues on this way, with Professor Morgan more often that not calling on me to answer questions during this fast-paced lecture. And I answer them each time—but every time I do, it’s not like any other class where you’re asked to answer a question, you do, and the professor moves on or expands on your answer. It turns into more of a...conversation—a dialogue—between the two of us, bouncing off each other until we get to the exact point he wanted to make.

Each time I’m called on to answer a question, it turns into a conversation between the two of us, just with the entire class looking and eavesdropping on.

And there’s something about the way it naturally flows between us—about how, for once, I can’t feel all of the hard stares that are sending daggers my way as him and I bounce back and forth quickly. I can tell each time that it’s the same way for him, too.

It’s like this, until the very end of class when at one point I’m finally wrong—until I’m finally wrong, much to his and everyone else’s surprise.

“Miss Villanueva—let’s go back to the Senkoku Islands for a bit. Tell me why since 2013 the U.S., China, and Japan haven’t attempted at negotiations over the disputed islands again?”

There’s a smirk on his face as he waits for me to answer. But I can’t help but blink my eyes in surprise, swallowing as I try and rack my mind for the answer. I can’t help but stare at him back with doe eyes and parted lips as I try to think of _anything_ to say, because I _don’t even know_.

“Um, well…” I begin as an uneasy and small smile starts to surface, “Isn’t it because—”

“Don’t ask me, Miss Villanueva. _State_ why _you_ _believe_ negotiations haven’t been attempted since 2013,” he corrects me.

I bite down on my lower lip in frustration. And then I take another shot.

“Because...of the threat of China’s military defense on the islands…”

I say that and then press my lips together, my brow furrowed as I watch his smirk gradually disappear and his face become straight and serious. Professor Morgan looks firmly at me, remaining silent for what seems like minutes, as we all wait for him to speak up.

I know solely from the look on his face that I’m wrong—that I’m wrong and he’s _disappointed_. And just knowing that, without him having to say a single word to affirm this intuition of mine, somehow makes my stomach churn and hurt as we all wait for his response.

“Wrong, Miss Villanueva. You’re _wrong_ ,” he states flatly. “For fuck sake, please tell me you _actually_ read this part of the reading, considering it seems like _no one_ in this _entire class_ even did the reading today except for _you_.”

I narrow my eyes a bit and my grip on my pen grows a little tighter. “Of course I did, Professor Morgan!”

“Well then you should have been able to answer that negotiations weren’t attempted ever again because the U.S. failed to mend the bridge between the Chinese and Japanese as the peaceful third party it is,” he snaps.

I clench my jaw as I feel my entire body and face begin to grow hot from how he’s treating me in front of the entire class. “Just because I got the answer wrong doesn’t mean I didn’t read that part of the reading. And I’m sorry, but you might want to be considerate of the fact that _all of us in this class_ are in the midst of Bar prep and spent all of yesterday doing 200 multiple choice questions for a Bar practice exam and are tired as hell, and _that’s why_ most of the class wasn’t able to get the reading done in the first place. Not everything is about _your_ class, Professor Morgan.”

I say that all quickly from where I sit, as we both stare each other down, and everyone in the class stares at the both of us. And once I’m done, the room is filled with silence once more. All of me is so burning hot, and I’m filled with so much anger, that I have yet to realize what I even said to him just now, in front of _everyone_.

“Well if you all are having a problem with getting as little reading as I assigned for this week, which has _always_ been stated in the _syllabus_ , then speak up instead of coming to class unprepared,” Professor Morgan barks back. And although that comment was targeted for the rest of the class, we all know it was meant for me since he was staring me down as he said it.

“So since _no one_ is prepared for today, we might as well end class early right now and continue next time.”

Professor Morgan turns around after saying this, walking to the whiteboard and beginning to erase what he wrote throughout class on it. “I’ll see you all on Monday. And coming _prepared_ , because I’ll be collecting notes that you all must take while doing the reading.”

A few sighs can be heard across the room as we all begin to gather our stuff and leave. Professor Morgan meanwhile concentrates on erasing the three whiteboards that he wrote on, and then moves onto the task of cleaning up the table at the front of the classroom where his papers, books, and bag is. I pack up at my usual pace, too frustrated and pissed off at him for how he decided to snap at me and treat everyone simply because I got _one_ answer wrong.

As I leave in the mix of everyone else, descending down the steps of the aisle, I’m forced to stop when I reach the bottom.

“Miss Villanueva, may I have a word please?”

I turn my head and blink my eyes, seeing Professor Morgan standing in front of the table. His hands are gripping a stack of paper that he’s straightening on the surface of the desk, and his brown eyes are firm and locked on me.

 _Fuck_. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ I think to myself. I’m so screwed…

I nod my head and walk over to him. I stop a few feet away, holding the class textbook close to my chest as I look at him and listen to the rest of the students file out. There was only three people left to leave when he called my name, so by the time I reach him they’re now all just leaving.

“So how’s your assignment coming along since we last met?” Professor Morgan asks, voice a bit louder. But his eyes aren’t on me when he says this, and instead are on the door as he watches those three remaining students file out.

I look at him with a furrowed brow, till I turn my head a bit and realize what he’s doing. So I turn to look back at him. “Fine—all of your help has really come in handy, so thank you.”

Once I finish, his face is back to being serious and clearly pissed just like moments before in class. “C’mon, let’s go to my office,” he states as he walks away from me. He grabs his leather jacket off the chair that’s at the table, sliding it on over his torso.

“Okay,” I reply quietly, watching as he puts his papers and other belongings that were on the table into his leather messenger bag. He slides his bag on and then grabs his copy of the class textbook off the desk, holding it in his hand as he motions towards the door by lifting his chin.

I turn away and walk to the front door. I can feel his body directly behind mine, with little distance between us, as I open the door. His hand comes up above my head and on the door, pushing it open a bit more as we both walk out of the classroom. We remain in complete silence as we weave through the halls, walking that all too familiar path we’re use to taking together.

During this time, my mind and heart race. I think of all the possibilities of what could happen next, all of them involving him angrily going off on me for what I said back there. And with each passing moment, as I play out all the possibilities of what he’ll say and yell at me in his office, my chest and the pit of my stomach feel heavier.

Once we reach the end of the corridor his office is in, Professor Morgan unlocks it. I notice that his blinds of the small window beside the door are already closed as his keys jingle while he pushes the door open. He turns on the lights and walks inside ahead of me, while I follow directly behind him. I automatically start to make my way towards the seat in front of his desk. I take my coat off and put it on the back of the chair, place my textbook on his desk, and then my backpack on the floor. I do so while expecting for him to walk over and sit down behind his desk and for the conversation we’re about to have to take place this way.

But he doesn’t.

I don’t realize that he doesn’t walk towards his desk, and instead stops and shuts the door, while I make my way towards that seat I’ve sat in so often. I don’t realize it until I hear an object or two hit the floor, directly followed by two hands gripping my shoulders from behind that move my body. The room blurs and moves fast around me, until I feel my back hit a hard surface, and I’m met with the sight of Professor Morgan’s straight and pissed off face directly in front of mine. His hands leave the back of my shoulders. I hear the sound of the door locking before his forearms to come down on both sides of me and press against his office door. The silence between us becomes background noise, as I do nothing but look into his narrowed brown eyes with my own wide ones—as I hear the sound of my shaky breath in contrast with his heavy yet long and steady breathing.

“I did _NOT_ appreciate that shit. I _fucking TOLD YOU_ —” Professor Morgan snaps firmly at me.

But as I gaze up at him, I realize I’m not filled with fear as I should be—that my heart isn’t pounding against my chest out of fear like it should—that my entire body doesn’t feel like it’s on fire because I’m scared for dear life like it should.

I realize that I’m responding like this because of his proximity—because...because…

_Because of his hot breath hitting and coating my skin since his face is mere inches from mine—because of the sound of his deep, gravely voice sounding like it’s right in my ear—because his large and tall body that towers over mine has me trapped like this, with nowhere to go, with his body so close to pressing against mine—_

And I think that’s why, instead of staying quiet and letting him continue—instead of snapping back at him and not letting him speak—that I cut him off with a kiss.

I think that’s why, I tilt my head up, and press my lips—why I deepen the kiss suddenly, while my arms remain at my side, without thinking at all.

And maybe that’s why, too, I’m met with the sensation of his lips pushing against mine, making the back of my head press further into the door. His body, which was just inches from being against my own, starts to press against mine as he deepens the kiss. His forearms leave the door as his hands come down and tightly grip my hips, further pinning me against the door. In return I wrap one arm around his neck while the other circles around him, running that hand up and down his back.

_Keep your hands on me—_

The tip of Professor Morgan’s tongue runs along my bottom lip slowly, and I part my lips for him while pulling him deeper into the kiss with my arm. One of the hands on my hips leaves, coming down to where it runs up skirt along my inner thigh. His large hand slides into them, his fingers pressed together as he covers my lower region with his hand. As my tongue slides into his mouth and glides over his own, I feel the tips of his fingers just barely run along my entrance through my panties, making me sigh against him.

“You’re so—” he mumbles as he pulls his lips off mine. His other hand that’s still gripping my right hip rises up and he grips my chin and right side of my jaw firmly with it, yanking my face roughly in closer to his. “— _Fucking wet, Calla_ ,” he finally finishes before slamming his lips against mine in a sloppy, wet kiss.

I capture his lower lip between my teeth, tugging back on it. His eyes open and meet mine that are narrowed on his. When I let go, he smiles at me, causing me to grin in return. I only pull his face in against mine till our chins and the tips of our noses are pressed together, while I press my hand against the middle of his back so his body pins mine more against the door. “ _Because I always get wet every time I see you, Professor Morgan_ ,” I reply back in a low whisper. I then slam my lips against his yet again, and I’m welcomed with the sound of a throaty groan that leaves him.

_—Don’t take them off until I say so._

As we kiss more, he presses the tips of two fingers against my entrance, and I sigh aloud. And when he doesn’t do that, he continues to run his fingers up and down me, from one end till he reaches my clit, and back. Somehow that alone—somehow the tingling sensation just from that barely added pressure and grazing of his fingers makes my inner thighs clench and tremble. He only stops and his hand leaves mine when I start to shove off his leather jacket, raising his arms up as our tongues run against each other and I throw his jacket to the floor.

_Trembling—_

His arms circle around me afterwards, while I slide my hands between our bodies and up to the collar of his shirt. I hurriedly undo the buttons of his shirt, my fingers shaking as I do so. Once I get halfway I don’t even try to keep going, because I want to do nothing but just _touch him already_. So I place my hands on his chest, my fingers spread apart. I smile against his lips as I somehow feel... _relieved_ —as if a bunch of pressure has left my shoulders—while my fingers curl around the hair on his chest and squeeze it tight.

Probably because every time I’ve sat in the chair in his office across from him—all the times I’ve sat in that classroom, watching as he paced the room or spoke to us—I’d always catch myself looking at the bit of dark, thick chest hair exposed because of the one button of his shirt that was undone. In those moments I’ve always wondered how it’d feel to run my hands over his chest—to feel his coarse hair on my skin, before reminding myself to look away and go back to concentrating on class again.

_—When you touch._

His lips leave mine, only to come to my jawline. He kisses down to my neck, his lips parted as he lets his tongue run along my skin. I crane my head back to give him easier access, causing the top of it pressing against the door. Professor Morgan kisses down my neck and then starts to kiss back up, making sure every inch has felt the touch of his soft lips. Then, when he reaches where my ear and jaw connect, he takes my earlobe between his lips. He sucks and nibbles on it, making me moan aloud. My hands finally leave his chest and come to his hair, my fingers spread apart and burying themselves in it, while I bite down on my lip. All the while I feel his hands run down my back, past my bottom, and down the back of my thighs. When he slides them back up my legs his hands slip under my skirt and suddenly gives my ass a deep squeeze. I bite on my lips while back arches and my fingers squeeze on his hair in return.

_You’re all on me—_

He chuckles a bit while pressing his forehead against my shoulder. “Well, _fuck_ , _Miss Villanueva,_ ” Professor Morgan begins, raising his head back up, whispering this into my ear. I shiver from his breath and just from hearing the way he says my name like that, so _deep_ and _low_ against me. “Wearing a _thong_ underneath this skirt of yours,” he continues, and his tongue flicks my earlobe. “I’m willing to bet you did this _all for me_ , knowing _full well_ this was going to happen tonight,” he jokes.

I giggle. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” I shrug. I slide my hands out of his hair and take his face in them, jerking his head away from my ear to where he can look at me. “ _What if I did, Professor Morgan? What will you do about it then?_ ” I ask in a whisper, my tongue rolling over my lip till it slides back in my mouth, only to immediately bite down on the left side of my bottom lip.

_—Keep your hands on me._

His hazel eyes darken and become hooded with lust as he stares into mine. “I’d say you better fucking dress like that _all the damn time_ under your clothes when you come to my office and class,” Professor Morgan replies, followed by a deep and throaty chuckle. “So I can,” His eyes glance down to my lips, “get to _feel_ and _see_ **_this_** ,” he squeezes my ass, “again.”

_Put your hands on me—_

His eyes flicker back up to mine and I grin wildly at him. I drop my hands from his face and bring them back between us, starting to undo the rest of the buttons of his shirt. “Oh yeah?” I say, raising my brows as I pluck away at each one. “ _Again_?”

_—You can put your hands on me—_

“Why the fuck not?” he replies, smiling at me, “I’ve wanted you _all semester long_ —I’m not going to want to stop just after tonight, _Miss Villanueva_.”

I finally undo the last one, and push the navy blue shirt down his arms. Professor Morgan lets go of me only to shrug his shirt off, throwing it on the floor himself. I press my hands against his lean torso, running them up and down his chest, feeling how it rises and falls while he looks at me.

But he takes a few steps back, leaving me here standing up against this door, all of my clothes still on while he’s shirtless. Professor Morgan takes a few more steps back, and I watch as his eyes run up and down me, his tongue running between his lips.

_—If you like what you see—_

My chest rises and falls with every shaky breath I let out as I look back at him—as I look back at this tall man, with dark eyes looking at me as if he’s _starving_.

Little do I know, he’s seeing how red my skin is around my lips—on parts of my jaw—up and down the right side of my neck—everywhere his lips were on me—from his beard. He’s soaking in the image of my wild, curly hair—my lips swollen from his—of the small bite marks on parts of my neck. He’s soaking in and relishing in the image of all of this put together—of me standing here looking like this, _caused by_ **_him_ ** , while I gaze back at him with doe eyes and parted plump lips

I bite down on my lip as I allow my eyes to look at him up and down—at the sight of his dark hair tousled and messy from my hands—of his long, lean chest that is covered in salt and pepper hair rising and falling as he sucks in and lets out breaths—of the pink tongue that slides over his lips till it disappears. My eyes trail down that chest hair till it disappears, where it leads to hidden by the black slacks he still has on.

_—Baby, put your hands on me._

And then he’s quickly walking back to me—it only takes three strides with those long legs of his to reach me. When he does his arms come around my body, pulling me away from the door and into him, roughly kissing me; in return, I wrap my arms around his neck when he does. His hands run down my back once more till they cup my ass, and when he squeezes me there I jump and circle my legs around his hips.

Professor Morgan holds me up, his arms under me with both hands on my cheeks, while walking backwards until plopping down in his desk chair. I straddle his lap grinding against his already hard cock, while his hands run up and down my torso. Our lips part as he lifts and takes my sweater off, throwing it to the ground somewhere in his office. His hands go behind my back to the clasp of my bra, and he watches me as he unhooks my bra. It slides down my arms when he does, and once he takes it off that is thrown away too.

He lets his fingers just barely brush over the sides of my breasts while he looks down at them. I wrap my arms loosely around his neck, lean back, and arch my back a bit as he does.

“Like what you see, Professor?” My voice only comes out soft and innocent while I smirk at him.

The tips of his fingers now barely run over my nipples, brushing over them in a circular motion as they harden and protrude out. I part my lips as I unconsciously react by rocking my hips, rubbing myself on him as I grow more wet, growing desperate for _any_ friction.

“ _Mmm_...I fucking _do_ ,” he replies as he brings his head down to my right breast, eyes looking up at me as he takes my nipple in his mouth.

His hand wraps around my right breast, squeezing it periodically while sucking on and swirling his tongue around my nipple. I sigh and arch my back, pushing my chest further into him. I close my eyes and moan as he continues. When I open them, I’m met with the sight of him looking back up at me, making me smile.

_Just a touch of your love—_

Professor Morgan moves his mouth to my left breast now, doing the same thing there. I dip my head back, closing my eyes as I run my hands over his chest, gripping tightly onto him each time I sigh or moan in pleasure. I lick my lips as he squeezes my breast and flicks my nipple with his tongue—as I grip onto the thick, salt and pepper curls that cover his chest and are between my fingers.

I trail my hands down his chest till I feel the soft material of his slacks under them, then grip his crotch gently and start to massage it. I open my eyes and bring my head back down to normal level when I feel him let go of my breast, and find that he’s smiling at me.

“Eager now, are we?” Professor Morgan lifts a brow.

_—Is enough to take control of my whole body._

I bite down on my lip, looking at him as I squeeze him gently again.

“I take that as a yes,” he groans.

I nod and lean into his ear. “ _You have no idea, Professor_ ,” I whisper. My tongue flicks over the shell of his ear playfully, and then I start to suck on his earlobe.

His hips buck up against me involuntarily, and then he chuckles deeply. “Oh, _I fucking do_ , sweetheart.”

I let go of his ear and pull my head back to look at him, and I can’t help but smile—can’t help but smile when I see him looking back at me, his eyes warm and affectionate.

_Just a touch of your love._

Professor Morgan kisses me again, and I wrap my arms around his neck as I return it. His hands up run along the top of my thigh and under my skirt, till they reach the waistband of my tights. I lift my bottom up as he tugs and rolls them down my legs. Once he’s gotten them down to my knees, I settle back down on his lap, our lips still pressed together as I smile against him. I extend out my legs and my lips leave his as I lean back, giggling as he grins deviously at me while getting them down to my ankles. Once they’re off he tosses them to the side as I settle my feet back down on the floor and lean back into him.

“Of all things you had to wear today,” Professor Morgan laughs lightly as he shakes his head. “You better come _more prepared_ next time, _Miss Villanueva_.”

I can’t help but playfully narrow my eyes on him because of that comment that is obviously referring to earlier in class. “Only if you _challenge me_ , _Professor Morgan_ ,” I reply back playfully.

_Fingers on my buttons, and now you’re playing—_

He smiles as he leans in and kisses me again, and our parted lips mold together as I lean in closer to him, pressing my chest to his. One hand weaves itself into my hair, while the other slides back up my skirt. I feel him move my thong to the side, followed by the tip of his finger pressing to my clit. He starts to move it in circles, adding pressure every now and then as he does.

I moan and arch my back, making my chest press more into him. I feel Professor Morgan smile against my lips at my reaction. I grind myself further into his hand as he plays with my clit, rubbing it in circles faster and harder.

I break our kiss and place my lips on the crook of his neck, starting to trail wet kisses up and down his neck. I nibble and suck on some spots, making sure though not to do it hard and long enough to leave any marks. His neck moves when I do as Professor Morgan cranes his head back and groans. My hands that are gripping his shoulders run down his chest till I reach his slacks again, this time starting to undo his belt. But I can feel my hands shake as I try to—as I bite my lip while he keeps playing with my clit.

_—Master of anticipation—_

“Well isn’t someone excited?” he remarks, and suddenly slides his index finger inside me. When I gasp, Professor Morgan only chuckles a bit more.

I successfully undo his belt and unzip his pants. I lean back into his ear and whisper, “Do I need to reiterate how _long_ I’ve been wanting you? I just—” I kiss the spot where his jaw and neck meet. “—I just _can’t wait anymore for_ **_you_** _, Professor_.”

_—Don’t you keep it all to yourself._

Professor Morgan groans deeply at my words and his finger leaves me. He starts to stand up, which forces me to get up with him. His hands come back up my skirt after we do and he yanks my black and lace thong down. I slide out of it and kick it the side. I reach out to his unzipped slacks, and when I do his arms circle around my waist and he pulls me into his body. Professor Morgan kisses me roughly as I pull his pants down, letting them slide down and pool at his ankles.

_Skirt off, keep the high heels on—_

I squeeze his hard cock gently through his briefs and he groans. Professor Morgan then buries a hand in my hair, pulling back on it and making me gasp against his lips in return. I then bring my hands to the waistband of his black briefs, sliding them down his thighs, his cock springing out.

He takes this moment to break our kiss so he can slide his briefs down the rest of the way, sliding out of them and his slacks. After he kicks them to the side he all at once scoops an arm under the back of my thighs, picking me up so my legs can wrap around his hips. When I do, and my arms wrap around his neck as well, he sits us back down in his desk chair. I lift myself up and hold his dick by the base, making sure as I slide down onto him that my skirt that’s still on doesn’t get in the way. I slide down slowly, allowing myself to adjust to his length and girth. We both let out a breath as he finally settles inside of me all the way, and I rock my hips to feel him move inside of me.

I lift myself back up and slide down onto him again, a bit quicker this time. I moan a bit this time as I repeat this action, picking up the face steadily. Professor Morgan’s hands come to my ass, squeezing me every now and then as he helps lift me up to quicken the pace. I build up the speed over time, my hands gripping his shoulders for support.

But at one point when he starts to slide out of me, I decide to stand up and get off of his lap. When I do, much to his surprise, I take a few steps so I’m standing in the middle of his desk. I bend over just a bit and grip the edge of the desk, turning my head to look over at Professor Morgan who is standing up. His lips are parted as he gazes and starts to step over to me.

_—Don’t let these eyes fool you—_

“ _Fuck. Me._ ”

My eyes flicker down to his erect and large cock and I lick my lips. I look back up into his eyes.

“ _Give it to me, Professor Morgan._ ”

He instantly walks behind me, puts a hand on the middle of my back, and roughly shoves me down into his desk. I gasp when I feel my chest press against the cool hardwood, followed by him kicking my legs apart.

_—I can take it—_

Professor Morgan runs his fingers over my entrance till he inserts two into my slick folds. I sigh aloud when he does, only for him to pull them out.

“You’re so fucking _wet_. Just what am I doing to do with you, _Miss Villanueva_?”

I swallow as I anticipate his next action—until I feel the tip of his dick barely slip into me out of nowhere, causing me to moan. My legs tremble just slightly as he stops, leaving just that bit of himself inside me—leaving the rest of me _waiting and wanting_.

“You’re shaking, baby,” Professor Morgan remarks. I feel him lean over my body. His lips brush over my ear and his hot breath hits my skin as he whispers, “Now what is it that you wanted me to do again?”

I let out a sigh, shutting my eyes as I feel him hover over my lips still while waiting for my answer—as I feel the weight of his body over mine while his tip stays still inside me. _Oh, fuck._

_—Hold nothing back—_

“You _know_ what I want, Professor.”

He slaps my ass in response and I yelp a bit. “I told you not to pull that _shit_ with me, _Miss Villanueva_ ,” Professor Morgan growls into my ear. He starts to massage the spot he hit, though, and I moan.

“ _Please_ ,” I finally beg. “Fuck me, _Professor_.”

“My fucking best and favorite student deserves a good fucking reward—don’t you, Miss Villanueva?”

I nod my head, my cheek that’s pressed against his desk squishing a bit more into the surface as I do.

_—Give it to me._

That’s when I suddenly feel all of him fill me up to the brim—till we can both hear and feel the sound of our skin slapping against each other when he finally shoves the rest of himself inside of me. I cry out when he does, and I feel my hips hit the edge of his desk from the force. Professor Morgan doesn’t even give me a chance to catch my breath before sliding nearly completely out, leaving just his thick and curved tip in me, before thrusting fast and deep again.

I moan, but much quieter this time, remembering to keep the noises I’m making down in case someone hears us.

And while he’s still inside me, I feel him press his body further against mine, and his lips that are still at my ear brush against my skin. “You don’t have to be so quiet, Miss Villanueva. None of the faculty, staff, and students stay this late. _It’s just us—no one but us can hear the sounds I_ **_know_ ** _you want to make._ ”

_I love the way it feels—_

My breath hitches in my throat at the words that slip out of his mouth—at the feel of his tongue flick my earlobe afterwards right before he thrusts deeper into me. And this time I don’t hold back—this time when he does, I moan louder, and my hands grip the corners of his desk.

I finally feel his breath stop hitting my skin, and feel the relief of the weight of his body that was on top of me leaving as he stands up straight. But Professor Morgan stays still inside of me, as if waiting for me to say something.

_—Babe I can’t keep—_

So I do.

“ _Don’t hold back now, Professor Morgan_.” I turn my head, which has my right cheek pressed against his desk still, a bit more so I can see him, and my eyes flicker up to look at him—taunting him—telling him to _just fucking_ **_do it_ ** _already._

_—Your hands off me—_

The hand that’s in my hair tightens it’s grip, and when he slides out and thrusts into me with great force, Professor Morgan tugs back on it. My neck cranes and my back arches when he does, and my ass sticks up more when I do. We both moan in unison as he starts to pick up the pace—we both don’t hold back on the sounds we’re making—on the words we’re mumbling under our breaths.

And he certainly doesn’t hold back on his speed and force, so much so that his desk is shaking underneath me, making my breasts that are planted firmly against the surface jiggle along with my ass each time he thrusts into me.

_—Please don’t take your hands off._

Professor Morgan’s other hand squeezes the right cheek of my ass as he deliberately rams himself into me. My mouth is agape, my eyes halfway closed as I moan. And with my head still turned like this, I can’t help but watch him—watch how his brow is furrowed—watch the sweat that beads his forehead begin to drip and and stroll down his face—watch his brown eyes remain downcast as he _watches himself_ fuck me relentlessly.

And, _fuck_ , does the sight of him like this—the sight of him being consumed by his own pleasure—of him being consumed by the sight and feel of my own body that he’s inside of—bring me even closer to the edge.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Professor Morgan curses, throwing his head back. “Fucking _fuck_ , Calla!”

“ _Ah_! Professor—Morgan!” I say in gasps, and I close my eyes. “ _Please—!_ ”

His hand leaves my ass, and two seconds later I now feel him rubbing my clit in fast, circular motions while he continues to ram himself into me. My hands leave his desk, my arms circle around his legs, and I now grip his flexed hamstrings as he thrusts into me.

“ _Fuck!_ I’m fucking going to—!”

“On my back,” I manage to say somehow, followed by a loud moan. And when I do, I feel his fingers press more firmly into my clit as he rubs me, so much so that I can feel them against my pubic bone. “Fuck, _don’t stop! Right there, right there!_ ” I shout.

And that’s when I come undone—when I finally fall off that edge we’ve been climbing and building up to all this time— _all this time_. The tight coil in my stomach releases, sending waves of heat through my body that started deep in the pit of my belly. My eyes roll in the back of my head after I squeeze them tight. I can feel my legs tremble while own walls clench and unclench all around him—as my juices utterly soak him. And then Professor Morgan quickly slips himself out of me, replacing the feel of my wet cunt with his own hand. It only takes a few seconds till I feel his hot come hit the middle of my back, all while he groans loudly as the pressure that had built up within himself is finally relieved.

All that fills the room is the sound of our heavy breathing as we come catch our breaths and the endorphins course through our veins. It’s like this for the next minute, till I open my eyes and finally stand up. I see him take a step so he’s right beside me, opening the top left drawer of his desk and pulling out some napkins.

“Here, turn around,” Professor Morgan says as he holds them in one hand, tilting his head up just a bit. I nod and turn my back to him. As I reach up to pull my hair to the side, he’s already doing so with one hand. I take my hair with both hands when he does, and I feel him begin to wipe my back clean with the napkins.

“Thank you,” I say softly, and I continue to try and slow my speeding heart and fast breathing. I close my eyes as he places his hand on my left arm, while his right hand continues to wipe away at my back.

“My pleasure,” he says, and I feel his lips press to my left shoulder, along with his beard pricking at my skin there. “But it’s the least I can do, considering…” Professor Morgan says after lifting his head back up, and we both begin to laugh.

I open my eyes as I laugh. I no longer feel him cleaning off my back, but I can hear him cleaning off himself for a moment before he throws some of the dirty napkins in the trash can underneath his desk. Once he does, Professor Morgan places his hands on both my upper arms, and he turns my body. I smile as my feet move, making me turn till I’m facing him. I’m only met with his light, hazel eyes with specks of green looking down at me, and that pearly-white perfect smile.

Even though I stand in front of him, nothing but my skirt still on and the rest of me exposed, it feels…

Professor Morgan brings a hand to the right side of my face, and his long fingers hold my right cheek and even the side of my throat as he tilts my head up more towards him. He presses his lips to mine in a gentle kiss—one that’s much slower than before—one that feels…

That feels how I did when I was looking up at him just seconds ago—one that feels how I do now—a kiss that makes my lips, face, and chest tingle—a kiss filled with so much affection and... _care_.

When he pulls away, our eyes both open and we’re smiling at each other yet again. I can’t help but begin to giggle, bringing my head down as I begin to turn away. His fingers graze along my cheek and neck till they slip off when I do, while the hand that’s still on my left upper arm continues to hold onto me. He holds onto me until I squat down and pick up our clothes that are surrounding us.

Professor Morgan joins me, squatting down right beside me as we both reach out and grab our clothes so we can get dressed. But we’re both still grinning ear-to-ear as we do, occasionally turning one of our heads towards the other and laughing a bit.

Once we’re done we stand up, our arms full and we start to exchange clothes.

“I figured you might want these back—unless, ya know, you want to go commando on the way out,” I say as I pass him his briefs, and we both laugh.

“I’d rather not. But…” Professor Morgan licks his lips as he raises my thong up, that’s hanging off his index finger, “Next class I will as long as you don’t wear any panties.”

My cheeks grow hot as I press my lips together, trying not to smile at him. “ _Maybe_ ,” I say. “I’ll keep it in consideration and get back to you on that.” I push his briefs into his chest, while he places my thong on top of my clothes that I’m holding with one arm. We both have now completely exchanged clothes, and I put mine down on his desk chair. I start to put my thong on, sliding it up my legs.

“But a _next time_ , huh?” I ask as I get dressed, turning my head to look over at him.

Professor Morgan placed his clothes on his desk, and he’s getting dressed right beside me. He turns his head to look at me as I do, his eyes staying on my face and not glancing even a bit down.

“Mhm,” he replies with a wide smile. “As long as you want there to be a next time, there’ll be one.”

I bite down on my lower lip, pausing to stand straight and look at him. He zips up his slacks, but doesn’t reach out to continue to dress, looking at me as he waits for my answer.

I start to nod my head now. “Yeah—yeah,” I say. I’m sure as hell my cheeks are bright pink as I begin to giggle like a giddy little girl even. “Yeah.”

Professor Morgan laughs at me, and we both continue with putting our clothes on. “Good,” he says after we do so. “Because I’m not sure I could handle saying that this would never happen again, considering last time that didn’t exactly go so well…”

I laugh as I slip my black, cropped turtleneck over my head and pull it down my torso. I turn to face him now that all my clothes are on, and my eyes glance down as I see that he’s facing me while starting to button up his shirt. “Oh, that _definitely_ didn’t go that well,” I add with a smirk as I get one last look at his exposed chest before glancing back up his face.

Professor Morgan chuckles at my response and reaction, shaking his head as he continues to do his buttons. He leaves the top one undone and folds his collar down. He then takes two steps forward, closing the distance between us, his arms circling around my waist. “ _Mmmm_ …” His chest rumbles against me, sending vibrations through my body, after he pulls me tight against him. “I’m not sure I can wait till Monday for round two,” Professor Morgan says with a cocky grin. “Not with this fucking _tight_ , _sexy_ little body,” he finishes, lifting his chin up just a bit.

I lick my lips as my lips curl up into a smile. “Well, you’re going to have to be patient, Professor Morgan,” I reply, my arms reaching around his neck. “Because I’m trying to get some sleep and work done this weekend.”

Just as his lips part, about to respond, I get up on my tiptoes and place my hands on top of his head, starting to smooth out his hair. “Hold on—your hair is really messy,” I say, furrowing my brow in concentration as I do.

“Probably because of how much you were pulling on it,” Professor Morgan chuckles.

I press my lips together and try to fight off a smile again, but I only fail miserably. I shake my head as I finish getting his hair back to look the perfect amount of neat-messy that it usually looks like, and press the rest of my feet to the ground as I lower myself.

“Speak for yourself,” I reply as my arms come back to me. I raise my hands up behind my head and start to pull my hair back into a bun. “Considering you were pulling on _mine_ like no fucking other,” I grin as I take the hair tie off my left wrist to finish the job. I bring my arms back down to my side after I do.

Professor Morgan shakes his head as he laughs, and one of his hands playfully taps my ass as he says, “C’mon now, it’s late.”

I giggle and slip out of his arms, walking around his desk to the other side where my coat, book, and backpack are. I slip on my coat, followed by my backpack, and grab my goat as Professor Morgan slips on his leather jacket, puts his messenger bag on, and grabs his copy of the same textbook. We walk over the front of his office and I open the door, stepping out into the corridor that is barely lit because of the light that spills out from his office. Professor Morgan turns off the light as he steps out, then turns around to close and lock the door.

We both walk through the pitch black corridor in silence till we make it to the lit hallways, and our silence only continues as we walk through the building together. It does, until we make it to down the street from the law school building, walking beside each other in the freezing New York cold.

“I’ll give you a ride,” he says as we stop where his motorcycle is parked, putting his textbook in his bag before grabbing a helmet. “Where do you live?”

I start to shake my head. “No, it’s okay—my apartment is only a few blocks away. You don’t have to go out of your way for me.”

“A few blocks isn’t out of my way,” Professor Morgan chuckles. “And anyway,” his smile falls and he starts to look at me seriously—and even though the street and building lights don’t illuminate him in the dark all that much, I can see that he’s looking at me with deep care in his eyes. And seeing that—seeing that right before me makes my own smile fall as I look back at him—as we look at each other, with parted lips and our hot breaths appearing in this cold, night air.

“I want to make sure you get home safe.”

He finishes what he was saying, and my throat and chest grow tight when he says those words. I start to nod my head and take a step towards him so I’m standing on the edge of the sidewalk now, with just one foot in between us.

“Thank you,” I say.

Professor Morgan starts to smile at me before he turns away, pulling out a second helmet. He hands it to me, his eyes flickering down briefly to look at my arms. “Put that on—and you might want to put that book in your bag before we go,” he says, glancing back into my eyes.

“I figured as much—I don’t think I’d be able to hold onto you from behind while also holding onto my book,” I laugh as I place my book down on his motorcycle seat then take the helmet from him.

“And even if you could, I wouldn’t want a damn book in between us,” Professor Morgan smirks.

Even though we just had sex—fuck, even though we _finally_ had sex—somehow comments like those don’t fail to make me blush like mad and try not to smile. And I try not to smile, failing like usual, as I put my book in my backpack and zip it up.

After I do, Professor Morgan puts his helmet on and buckles it, puts his messenger bag on across his body, then takes a seat on his motorcycle. I put my backpack back on and then put my helmet on, buckling it and then tightening the strap under my chin as necessary. He turns to look at me as I do, starting to grin and chuckle as I adjust the strap.

“What—what’s so funny?” I ask, furrowing my brow.

“No, it’s not funny—I don’t even know why I’m laughing, actually,” Professor Morgan shakes his head. “It’s just...your _hair_ ,” he says, lifting his chin ever-so-slightly to motion towards me. He’s smiling from ear-to-ear now, and I can tell he can’t help it—that he just can’t stop. “You still look beautiful as hell.”

I bite my lip and turn my head away, and climb onto his motorcycle behind him. I press myself completely against his back and wrap my arms around him, my hands overlapping on his lower belly, then reach up just a bit to put my chin on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” I say, turning my head a bit towards him.

Professor Morgan turns his head just barely so he can look back at me, and his hazel eyes are looking into mine. His hands grab my own and pull so my arms tighten around him as much as possible while he looks at me—to where my hands are on opposite sides of his torso even. “Hold on tight, alright?” he says and starts to smile. Once I grin back at him he turns his head away to face straight, and I turn mine so I can look forward too.

We leave, but he makes sure not to drive too fast. But as we do, the cold air doesn’t fail to nip out our skin as the wind hits us. I yell over the sound and Brooklyn traffic to tell him when to turn—it only takes a few minutes, but we make it to my apartment. He pulls up slowly to the curb at space that’s just small enough in between two parked cars to fit his bike.

We both take our helmets off. I get off and step onto the sidewalk after I do, followed by Professor Morgan doing the same exact thing. I let out a breath as I hand him back my helmet.

“Thank you for the ride again,” I say as he takes it from me. “And thank you...for wanting to get me home safe.”

“Of course,” he replies, starting to smile. And he’s gazing at me—he’s gazing at me with glowing eyes—with eyes filled with that deep care all over again. He is, until he turns around and puts away the spare helmet and puts his own on his motorcycle seat. Then he turns back to face me while his hands slide into the pockets of his jacket.

“You get home safe now, too, alright?” I say, beginning to smile.

“I will,” Professor Morgan chuckles at me.

We stand like this on the edge of the sidewalk, my back facing the building my apartment is in while he stands facing me, with just one foot in between us.

It doesn’t feel like it’s time to slip away—it doesn’t feel like it’s time to turn away, walk up the stoop, and into my building just yet.

It feels like there’s one thing left—just one thing left.

That one foot distance disappears as he takes a step forward—as he takes just one step forward with his right foot—and one hand reaches out to gently hold the side of my face while the other goes to grip one of my hips. I welcome his grasp—I welcome his calloused fingers and palm coming against my cheek, the tips of his fingers adding just a bit of pressure as they press firmly into my skin—and I welcome his other hand wrapping around my right hip and squeezing me, while he captures my lips with his own in a deep, delicate kiss.

And I slide my arms around his neck, pulling him in just a bit closer, as I return the kiss—as his lower lip lands perfectly in between my own and our lips mold together in this kiss, holding onto each other.

His lips move against mine, capturing my plump bottom lip between his as Professor Morgan deepens the kiss. He presses my body into his as his hand lets go of my hip and comes to my lower back. I leave one arm around his neck, that hand slipping down and pressing into his tight upper back, while my other comes around his waist and presses that hand into his mid-back.

 _"Mmm...Calla,”_ Professor Morgan’s chest rumbles against mine as he mumbles this, his lips brushing against mine before deepening the kiss again.

_And now my whole week is golden—_

My fingertips and lips burn as I press them more firmly against him—as I hold onto this kiss and his body—until he finally pulls away. Our eyes open, and all I can see are his light brown eyes staring into mine as the our noses brush against each other—as our breaths slip out of our parted lips mingle.

I let my arms start to slip off his body and take a step back. Likewise, his hand on my cheek and the one on my lower back start to slowly leave.

_—Can you see me glowing?—_

“5 PM, Monday still?” Professor Morgan asks as that one foot distance comes back between us, and our hands at least leave one another.

“Of course, Professor Morgan,” I reply with a smile.

_—That’s how I feel._

“Goodnight, Miss Villanueva,” he says, returning my smile with his own. I lick my lips as I see his cheeks become pink. I finally will myself to turn around, though, and walk to my building—up to stoop to the front door, taking my keys out of my coat pocket to unlock the door and step in.

Once I do unlock the door and open it, as I step in the doorway I turn my head around, wanting to get just one last look of him.

_And I’m not afraid to fade into emotions—_

And when I do, I find him sitting on his motorcycle, helmet on, looking back at me too—looking back at me, starting to smile as he sees me turn around, as if hoping I would turn to look at him one last time.

I smile back, my cheeks burning from blushing and how much I’ve been smiling because of him tonight. And I continue to smile as I shut the door, both of us sliding out of one another’s view till the door closes all the way.

_—Because I know this could be something real._

 


	9. Magnets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl I totally wrote a good amount of this to “Everyday,” “Side To Side,” and “Dangerous Woman” by Ariana Grande and I have no shame whatsoever about this YA’LL CAN JUDGE ME ALL YOU WANT IDGAF *slides sunglasses on*
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy~~ :-)

**Spring Semester, Week 6  
** _7:00 P.M., Wednesday—2nd Mentorship Session_  
_Professor Morgan’s Office_

“Well, I say we’ve covered enough for this session. We can pick back up and cover some more negotiation techniques during our next Monday,” Professor Morgan says from where he sits behind his desk, placing his hands on his thighs as he sits up a bit more.

“Sounds good to me,” I reply with a nod. I’m sitting up straight, and I bend over a bit to grab my bag from the floor. I pick it up with the handle on top and stand up, putting the long strap of the messenger bag on my shoulder. I step to the side, still standing across from him, and I swallow.

 _It’s time to leave—it’s time_ _for you to go, Calla._

My lips part, about to say the words—about to say “goodbye,” or that I’ll “see him soon in class.”

But nothing comes out. Nothing comes out. _I can’t even make a single sound._

_Say it, Calla. Why the fuck aren’t you saying it?_

My legs begin to shake a bit as I look down at him, and he looks up from behind his thick-framed glasses where he’s seated across from me.

_Let go—_

I take a step forward in his direction, and another step. It takes three long strides for me to walk to his side of the desk, and as I do my right hand goes to the strap of my bag and I take it off my shoulder. It’s as I move to him like this, in rushed long strides and wide eyes that are focused and trained on him, that I take my messenger bag off my shoulder and dump it alongside his desk without even looking away. It’s as I get closer to him that he turns in his desk chair, eyes widening as I carelessly place my bag on the floor while turning to come behind his desk to him, and Professor Morgan begins to extend his arms out towards me.

_—Cause every time I see you I don’t want to behave—_

A breath slips off my parted lips as I find myself beginning to straddle his lap, as his arms slink themselves around my hips and mine come around his neck. And our lips meet instantly—his arms tighten around my petite body—a hand buries itself in his dark locks of hair, gripping them gently, and my other hand squeezes his left shoulder.

_—We can free ourselves from all we’ve learned._

I can’t help myself—I can’t help myself at all. My back arches as our lips devour one another—with just as much need as last time. Our tongues slide against one another, and our limbs are entangled around each other—pulling, gripping, grasping _desperately._

He can’t control himself—he can’t control himself either. Because Professor Morgan is contributing just as much to this fire that’s sparked and ignited just weeks ago—because he’s sucking and nibbling on my bottom lip right now, making me grind my hips against his.

_We both can’t control ourselves and we know it—oh, we both know it._

His teeth barely bite down on my bottom lip, and he hangs on to it as he begins to pull his head a bit back. I only press my body further against his as he does, and once he lets go of my lip, Professor Morgan leans in and buries his head in the crook of my neck. His lips press to my neck, placing rushed kisses along my skin as I tilt my head to the side and close my eyes.

“Calla,” he whispers my name against my flesh through his kisses, hot breath all over my skin as I squeeze his hair. “We shouldn’t—we—”

I slip my hand out of his hair. I take his face in my hands and pull him back from my neck so I can look at him.

“I can’t—I can’t leave just yet. Just let me…” I glance down briefly at his lips before looking back into his eyes, _“Just let me take care of you."_ I lean in closer to him, tilting my head and my lips are barely against his. “I’ll make sure we’re done way before class starts, _Professor,_ ” I whisper.

_Say it to me—_

His breath hitches in his throat, and he adds just a bit of pressure to my lips before pausing. Our breaths intermingle as our eyes lock, and that’s when I see his eyes darken.

“Lock the door.”

I get up instantly and walk as quick as possible to his office door, lock it, and double check to make sure his blinds are closed. I turn around, and I’m nearly running across the office back to him—back to him, whose arms are spread wide and waiting for me—he who pulls me in as close as possible as I climb onto his lap, our lips molding and melting against one another as we grip onto each other for dear life.

_—Let’s embrace the point of no return._

His hands run up and down my back—squeeze at the curve between my waist and hips—entangle themselves deep in my hair even, and my own hands run over his arms till I reach his chest. It’s rushed kissing—my lips leave his and I trail sloppy kisses along his jawline, his beard prickling my skin as I do, and I hurriedly move my lips to his neck. My hands on his chest drop to his belt as I grind my hips against his. Every time my torso presses further against his as I grind, I either feel a hand grip my hair or sides tighter with the addition of him slightly raising his hips up to meet mine. And I’m welcomed with the sensation of all of this—I’m especially welcomed with the feeling of him becoming firmer _—harder—_ underneath me with every passing second, making me smile against his very skin I’m planting kisses on.

_Anytime I’m alone—_

I undo his belt, and then immediately unbutton and unzip his pants. My smile grows wider as my lips leave his neck and I climb off his lap, only to slowly lower myself down to my knees on the floor. I lick my lips as I do—as Professor Morgan watches me with interested eyes.

_—I can’t help thinking about you._

I grab the edge of his briefs and pants, sliding them down his legs together till they come halfway down his calves. I run my hands up his calves and thighs, all of the black, thick hair that covers them moving with me. And once I reach the top of his thighs, with my hands spread wide, I finally glance down and what’s between his legs—at what’s about to receive nothing but attention from me in the moment to come.

_All I want—_

I lick my lips, seeing his long cock standing tall with pride—with pride _for me—by me._ And then I look back up and meet his eyes. He narrows them a bit as his lips pull back into a slanted, arrogant smirk. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart,” Professor Morgan purrs lowly, gripping my hair a bit tighter with one hand as he does.

 _“Oh, I’m ready,”_ I counter in a hushed whisper, playfully winking at him.

_—All I need—_

I gently grab the base of his cock and lean in. I run my tongue up his length, starting from the bottom till I get to his head. I wrap my mouth around him there, letting my tongue swirl around him.

“Ah, _shit,”_ I hear slip off his lips along with a low sigh. I try and keep myself from giggling, despite how much hearing him say it like that turns me on just a bit more.

_—All I see—_

I start to lower my head, bringing the rest of him slowly inside me, hollowing my cheeks as I start to suck a little. I go all the way down, fighting off my gag reflex as he slides till the tip of him is sliding down my throat, and I have him in my mouth as far as possible. And then I slide him out quickly, and go back to concentrating on the head of his cock.

“Holy _fuck!”_ Professor Morgan says, just a bit louder than in a low voice, as I slide his cock out of my mouth.

I start to laugh quietly as I take his head out, tilting my head up to look at him, wiping my saliva off my lips. “Sshhh. You need to be quiet!” I remind him in a whisper.

He chuckles lowly, and I notice that his cheeks are pink. “Fuck—sorry,” Professor Morgan shakes his head. “I just couldn’t help myself,” he continues, just barely lifting his brows as his eyes narrow.

I bite down on my lower lip as I grin. _Fuck,_ is he _definitely_ boosting my ego today!

_—is just me and you._

I continue to go down on him, gradually picking up speed as I focus more on his tip with deep throating him from time to time. And he continues to mutter curse words and let out low, quiet groans as I do—he even guides me, the hand in my hair gripping the back of my head and moving me faster or whatever speed he wishes. I only stop, slipping him completely out of my mouth, when I hear the soft noises he’s making become more frequent.

_Anytime—_

I wipe my lips with the back of my hand, cutting off the string of saliva that forms between my bottom lip and his cock, before standing back up. And as I get on my feet, Professor Morgan tilts his head all the way back to look up at me, his own mouth parted in anticipation.

_—Anywhere—_

“Hold on…” I tell him in a low voice as I bring my hands to my pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them. I kick off my shoes, slide down my pants and the thong I’m wearing down and off me, and push all of them to the side. I step forward, my legs on either side of the chair he’s in, and start to lower myself. I gently take his dick in my hand, steadying it to be just under my entrance. I bring myself down, feeling his thick, mushroom tip push through my entrance, followed by the rest of him. Once he’s all the way inside of me, filling me to the hilt, I settle my bottom on his lap. I rotate my hips, feeling him move inside of me, and I let out a heavy breath as I do. My hands are on his shoulders, and his own come to grasp my hips.

_—I can misbehave._

I squeeze him a bit more, using him for support, as I lift myself up a bit so he can slide out, only to come back down. I start off slow, with small breaths slipping off my lips, as I gradually move up and down. He grips me tighter, and I can feel the tips of his fingers digging into my skin against my hip bones as he tries to help support me too.

As I increase speed, I can feel my breasts start to bounce even with my bra and blouse still on—I can feel my heart rate picking up, as well as the heavy breaths that come from the both of us. I only lean in closer to him as I ride his hard dick, and I press my lips to his jawline. I bounce up and down on him, feeling him move against my walls that squeeze down all around him, my juices coating his cock entirely, and one of my hands on his shoulder comes up to the right side of his face. Professor Morgan turns his head to the side towards me, and I feel his lips press to my cheek. He moans softly, his hot breath hitting my face, and I sigh aloud.

_Breathe me in—_

_“Fuck,_ you feel so good, Calla,” he whispers against my lips before kissing me, and he groans into me even then, pressing his lips as hard as possible as I move faster.

I move my lips away from him, and I press my forehead against his shoulder. He’s meeting me every time I come all the way down by thrusting up, only making it impossibly more pleasurable, and I have to try and keep the noises I’m making down as I feel myself growing closer to the edge.

_—Breathe me out—_

Professor Morgan’s hands leave my hips and come under my ass, gripping me there as he lifts up, getting it to where I’m bouncing up and down on him as fast as possible as our hips meet with his thrusts. My breathing is shaky, just as my hand that’s holding onto his shoulder and the one on his face are. He dips his head down, and his lips are against my ear and neck, and our heated breaths mingle.

“Oh my god!” I gasp aloud, just a bit louder than the quiet tone of voice we’ve both been using.

Professor Morgan chuckles into my ear and kisses my neck. “Shhh, shhh, shhhhhhh,” he says through his low laughter, “You gotta be quiet so we don’t get caught.”

I giggle quietly and turn my head towards him, the tips of our noses brushing against each other as I do, and we’re smiling at one another. “Fuckin’ come here,” I whisper, pulling him in for a deep kiss. And just like earlier, our lips mold against one another—move against each other as our tongues intertwine and glide against each other.

_—Feel me—_

It’s in this moment I feel myself crashing—that I feel me entirely collapse against him, settling on his lap as my walls squeeze and twist around his cock, milking him with my juices. And our lips just barely part, tongues retreating as I gasp against him from the orgasm that courses through my body. He lets out a heavy, low groan against me, as I feel his cock twitch inside me followed by the sensation of his hot cum shooting into me.

_—I’m running through your veins._

We stay like this as we come down from our mutual high, lips barely touching as we catch our breaths, sweaty hands holding onto one another, with our eyes closed. And after a moment like this, I start to stand up, and he slides out of me as I do. I take a step back, and Professor Morgan slides his chair closer to his desk. He opens the top left drawer, taking out napkins just like last time. He hands me a few, and I clean myself in between my legs as he cleans his thighs and cock too. I even take one to wipe the top of my forehead that has some sweat, and then I throw them away in the trash can that’s under his desk.

“Done with fifteen minutes to spare,” I say after glancing down at my watch, looking back up at him with a smile. “I told you we’d be done before class starts.”

Professor Morgan stands up, bending down to slide his pants and boxers back up. He looks at me as he does, laughing a bit. He zips and buttons his pants back up, and starts to tighten his belt when he replies, “Yeah, and you were fucking _good_ , may I add.”

I slide my pants and thong back on, wiggling a bit before zipping them up, then pull my blouse down a bit. “I just couldn’t help myself—especially after last time…” I lick my lips as I grab my boots, pulling them on over my calves.

Professor Morgan walks over to me, his arms wrapping around my waist as I’m bent over and sliding my boots on. I start to stand back up, and I put my hands against his chest as he pulls me in. _“Mmmm..._ I did say there’d be a next time,” he smiles down at me, tilting his chin up just a bit playfully. “And let me tell you, there’ll be fucking _plenty_ more times to follow at this rate,” he whispers particularly low, bringing his lips closer to mine. “Because I sure fucking liked this _pleasant_ surprise of yours, _Miss Villanueva.”_

I meet him with a slow, passionate kiss as he holds me tighter against his body. But I break it, reminding myself of the time. I pull away from him and his arms leave me as I sigh. “Class, remember?” I say, twisting my lips a bit in disappointment. “Let me grab my bag and coat, I’ll walk out, and then you’ll leave just a few minutes before class starts so you can arrive just on time.”

Professor Morgan sighs as well, and I can only interpret that to be out of disappointment too based off what follows next. “Right—sounds like a plan,” he says as he nods his head, hands going into the pockets of his navy slacks. “Even though I’m not sure how I’m going to keep my mind off of you for the next two and a half hours of class,” he chuckles.

I only smile and shake my head as I walk back to where I was once sitting, grab my coat off the back of the chair, and then my bag that’s alongside his desk that I put on my shoulder. “Trust me, Professor, _I don’t know how I will either,”_ I reply, turning my head to look back at him, biting down on the left corner of my bottom lip.

His cheeks are bright pink as he grins from ear-to-ear at me. “Go! We’re running out of time with you holding us up like this,” Professor Morgan teases, motioning towards his office door with his chin.

I giggle and walk to the door, my hand on the lock, and I turn my head to look back at him.  _“I’ll see you soon,_ _Professor Morgan.”_

Now he’s biting down on his lip as he looks at me, his eyes sparkling even under these god awful fluorescent lights.

I turn around, unlock the door and push down on the door handle. I step out and close his door, not looking back as I leave and walk off to our classroom, knowing full well I’ll be seeing him again in just a few minutes with the rest of my peers after what we just did…

_Dancing past the point of no return._

* * *

_7:27 P.M.  
_ _Negotiation’s Class, Room 227_

I slip into the classroom, walk up the aisle down the side till I hit the middle row, and walk down till I reach the middle where my usual seat is. I place my bag on the long table stretched out, then  take out my laptop and notebook, as well as a pack of gum. I take a piece out and pop it in my mouth, chewing as the powerful taste of mint fills my mouth.

“Hey, Calla—you do the reading for today?”

I turn my head back as I place my laptop on the table, blinking my eyes when I hear Jake’s voice.

“Of course, you know me,” I say jokingly, and we both laugh together when I do.

 _Jake Fischer—_ a fellow over-achiever...but then again, pretty much all of us who have made it this far are over-achievers. The only difference between him and everyone else is that he knows how to joke around—knows when and when not to take this whole “we’re all competing against each other because we’re graded against one another” thing seriously—knows how to be a _real_ friend and compartmentalize the fact that we are competitors academically, but that we also study together on weekends and have formed a good bond.

Originally, Jake and I started off as competitors who hated one another our first year of law school. We were both obviously our Contracts professor’s favorites that first semester, and it created a lot of tension between us to where we never interacted at all. But that quickly changed when the second year of law school (just last year, actually) began, and our entering class was cut in half because most people didn’t have the minimum GPA in order to stay. Not only that, but we found ourselves having all the same classes together, and figured we might as well start to study together...And from there, a close relationship blossomed between us every Saturday and Sunday afternoon we’d meet to study together, first meeting up at coffee shops to eventually going back and forth between holding study sessions with wine and food, followed by catching up on some of the shows we both watch and love together, at one another’s apartments.

“I shouldn’t even have to ask at this point,” Jake jokes back. “Considering…” he says lowly, then motions for me to come closer with two fingers.

I smile as I turn around to face him, taking a step forward. His row is slightly elevated above mine, and Jake sits right behind me in class. I press my hands against the back of the table that makes up his entire row, and lean in. His lips are hovering above my ear as he whispers this next part.

“You _are_ Professor Morgan’s favorite, _obviously.”_

I swallow, and I consciously try to keep myself from blushing as I pull away and see Jake’s wide smile. I press my lips together and shake my head, laughing lightly. “Oh, c’mon—you know I can’t help that,” I shrug.

“Speak of the devil,” he replies, eyes flickering to the door, and he motions to it.

I turn my head around, seeing Professor Morgan walking in through the door, letting it close on it’s own behind him as he walks to the center of the classroom with long strides. He doesn’t look at any of us, and remains silent as he places his bag down on the table in the middle, taking what he needs out for today’s lecture. The entire room goes from scattered talking and laughter to silence. I immediately take my seat in one of the computer chairs, scoot towards the surface where my bag and other belongings are, and open my laptop. I sit up straight and tall in my seat, log into my laptop, and launch Google Drive so I can take notes on a Google Doc as I usually do every class. Meanwhile, Professor Morgan walks to the whiteboard, his back facing us as he writes down a few words in large handwriting.

He clears his throat as he turns to face all of us, holding the capped whiteboard marker in hand that he uses to point to the words written behind him.

“Don’t show all of your cards,” Professor Morgan says these very words written on the board loudly, his voice echoing through the large room. “We say this all the damn time—what does it even mean exactly?” His brow is furrowed as he begins to look around the room, clearly wanting us to answer his question.

I keep my hands down, arms folded as I let them rest on my forearms, choosing to opt out of this one.

“Yes, Mr. Fischer,” he says now, pointing at Jake with the marker in my direction, since he sits directly behind me.

I barely turn my head to the side—just enough to where I can see Jake answering out of the corner of my eye.

“Don’t give everything your way—whether it’s your plan, tactic, information you know, etcetera.”

I turn away, back to looking at the front of the classroom where Professor Morgan is starting to pace a bit. He’s nodding his head and pressing his lips together in thought.

“You’re on the right track, but not exactly there…” he says, and stops pacing. He faces all of us, one hand in the pocket of his navy slacks and the other still holding the marker. Professor Morgan’s eyes suddenly widen noticeably, even though the fluorescent lighting slightly gives his lenses a glare. “Miss Fowler?” He motions towards a female student on the right side of the classroom, sitting in the back, with the slight upward tilt of his chin.

“In terms of negotiations, making sure not to lay out all at once or even completely at all what you want out of it—what your intentions are,” she answers.

Professor Morgan nods his head, turns around, and walks back to the whiteboard. His hand is still in his front pocket, tugging down and making his slacks a noticeably bit tighter around his ass as he writes more words up on the whiteboard with his other hand. I can’t help but lick my lips as I watch him, in his dark navy blue suit—long legs slightly spread, his broad shoulder blades just poking out a bit through his blazer, long arm stretched above him, head tilted up as he writes.

He turns back around, and listed underneath the words he wrote originally are what Jake and our other peer just answered. “Good, good—both of you are correct,” Professor Morgan says. “And we’ll be spending the next…” He looks down at his watch on his left wrist before looking back to us, “hour and a half going over this.”

He starts to turn so he can walk to where the classroom computer is set up on the left side of the classroom so he can put something up on the projector for us. And as he does, Professor Morgan’s eyes briefly meet mine—they do, if just for a second, and I can’t help but look at him back with wide eyes.

And then he swallows, turning his head away as he walks across the classroom, setting the whiteboard marker down on the table in the middle as he does, and goes behind the computer that he focuses his attention on for the time being.

My eyes only fall after that and I look down at the keyboard of my laptop as I hold back a sigh.

* * *

_9:00 P.M.  
_ _Negotiation’s Class, Room 227_

Class ends. Everyone is packing up—people are leaving. And Jake and Calla are chatting as they both collect their belongings, only she’s going much slower than him.

“We’re still on for Saturday—your place, since we did my place last time?” Jake smiles at her as he slides his laptop in his backpack.

“Of course! Dinner, made by yours truly, with some good red wine, followed by the most recent episode of The Good Fight,” Calla replies, playfully batting her lashes and pursing her lips, and they both laugh in unison.

“The usual time?” Jake asks, putting on his coat, followed by his backpack. He pushes in his computer chair, ready to leave as he waits for Calla’s answer.

“Mhm—6 PM, you know it,” she replies, putting her pen and highlighters in her pencil bag.

“Perfect! Well I’ll see you then, Calla,” Jake says, smiling before he leaves. He walks down his row till he hits the aisle, walking down that and leaves the classroom, all while Calla continues to slowly pack up her belongings.

_Never really felt bad about it—_

She does, and as she does Professor Morgan sits at the table in the front of the classroom, looking over the quizzes his students in his Contracts class just recently completed. But he glances up occasionally, watching as Calla and Jake talk—each time noticing when he does look up that the room is becoming emptier as people leave. And he notices how slow she’s being as she packs up her stuff compared to Jake and everyone else, which only makes him lick his lips as he looks back down at one of the quizzes he has in his hand because he knows _why_ she’s doing that…

_—As we drank deep from a lie—_

A few minutes pass after Jake has already left, and this time when Professor Morgan looks up he’s welcomed with the sight of Calla being the only person left, seated in her usual spot as she puts her notebook in her bag, closing the flap. She stands up, lifts her head, and they both lock eyes.

_—Cause I felt melting magnets, babe—_

“Looks like you’re the only one left, Miss Villanueva,” he says simply, no smile. Professor Morgan stands up, setting the quiz he was looking over down on the table. He slides his glasses off and sets them down, as well, before beginning to slowly walk from the front of the classroom towards the front row. “Is there any way I can help you? Maybe you have a question I can answer?”

_—The second I saw you through half-shut eyes._

Calla clears her throat, pressing her lips together as she tries to keep from smiling. Her head dips down as she steps to the side and pushes in her chair. “No—I think I understood today’s lecture very well, Professor Morgan. Thank you, though.” She lifts her head up, and when she does she sees him walking up the aisle, long legs taking each step with ease. Both his hands in the pockets of his slacks makes his blazer push back, exposing his frame—what, with his black button-up tucked _tight_ into his slacks, the top button undone and exposing just a bit of dark chest hair, hips swaying slowly as he takes another step up—till he reaches the step the middle aisle is on, turning and starting to walk towards her.

_See you standing over there with your body—_

He’s starting to slowly smile, more of perfectly straight, white teeth appearing as he does. And his smile grows just a bit slanted as the left corner of his lips curl up more than right right. The entire time his eyes are on Calla—on her, dark and narrowed, like a hunter who just cornered his prey.

“Don’t worry, I already locked the door and closed the blinds,” Professor Morgan tells her in a very low, quiet voice as he grows closer to her.

Calla stands still, heart racing as she watches him take step after step in her direction—until when he comes right up to her, hands leaving his pockets as he does, stepping forward more and making her back up till her lower back hits the edge of the long table. His breathing is deep and low as he places his hands on her hips, his torso coming against hers and pressing her further against the edge, a leg coming in between hers. He looks down at her while Calla tilts her head up to look at him, those doe chocolate brown eyes gazing up at him in curiosity. And all she can see looking back at her is a man who _knows_ what’s about to come next—who _knows_ what he wants—what he _needs,_ and that’s standing right in front of him.

_I love this secret language that we’re speaking._

“Surprising me like that in my office _right_ before class started—you think I was gonna be able to fucking lecture you all with you sitting in the middle like you always do, _minutes_ after riding my fucking dick, sweetheart? Think you were going to _get away_ with doing that?” Professor Morgan whispers as he looks down into her eyes.

“Like I told you, I couldn’t help myself,” she replies back softly, lips twisting into a smirk.

He groans quietly, thrusting his hips forward so his groin is pressed up against her pelvis. “You don’t even know how fucking _hard_ I’ve been the _entire time_ I was teaching, because I couldn’t stop thinking about _you.”_

Calla licks her lips before they part, and she feels her throat grow tight as she feels his hard length that’s straining his pants pressed up against her—as he keeps his voice low and deep, saying all of this without even kissing her yet—saying all of this as he just simply looks down at her.

“Can’t say anything? Doll, you weren’t like that just earlier in my office,” Professor Morgan chuckles quietly. “You know what I gotta do in return for you going down and riding me like that, don’t you? What I gotta... _reward_ you with, _Miss Villanueva?”_

“I don’t know, Professor—why don’t you _show_ me?” she says, an arm coming around his neck, pulling him in till their lips are barely touching, eyes still on one another.

_—Feeling like I wanna rock with your body—_

He groans, slamming his lips and body against hers all at once, no longer able to hold himself back. She only tugs his down closer to her, as she slips her tongue past his lips and into his mouth. And as they continue to kiss passionately, Calla’s hands come to his shoulders and she starts to slide his blazer down. Professor Morgan takes his hands off her hips, hurriedly taking his blazer off and throwing it on the chair she always sits in that’s right next to them. He places his hands on her face, cupping both cheeks as they continue to kiss each other intensely.

_—And we don’t have to think about nothing._

Professor Morgan’s hands leave her face, and he brings them down to behind her ass, using them to push her up so Calla is sitting on the table now. He steps in between her legs, still kissing her as on arm slips around her hips and his other hand settles on her stomach. And that’s when he pushes her stomach with his hand, so her back is pressed on the table, as he still stands in between her legs. Calla gasps, taken back by this sudden action, as her head rests on the smooth surface. Her dark brown hair made of tight curls, with some blonde mixed in towards the bottom, spread all around her.

His hands undo her zipper, and when he slides it down he sees the magenta lace thong she’s wearing. He licks his lips and grins, shaking his head as he looks down at it before looking back up at her.

“How many of these do you have? Cause I’ll _never…”_ Professor Morgan slides her thong and pants down all at once, Calla lifting her hips to make it easier for him, till they come down to her knees where they meet the top of her boots, “...get tired of seeing them.”

Calla giggles quietly, cheeks pink as he says this. “I have _plenty_ to go around, _sir,_ ” she replies, wiggling her brows up and down playfully. He laughs lowly as he takes off her boots, putting them in the same chair he put his blazer on. Then he takes off her pants and thong and puts them there, too.

_I don’t compromise my passion—_

He drops down to the floor so he’s on his knees, and his hands grab her calves and spread her legs apart. _“Perfect,”_ Professor Morgan purrs in a whisper, licking his lips as he looks at what lies in between them. He gently pulls Calla a bit forward till her ass is on the edge, and his mouth is so close to her that she can feel his hot breath hitting her sensitive clit and entrance, making her shiver. She sits up just enough on her forearms so she can see him—so she can see her _professor’s head in between her fucking legs—_ and wait for what she is certain is about to happen.

_—You know what you do for me, I’m doing the same for you._

His mouth comes over her clit, his tongue swirling around the little nub. Calla sigh and rests her head back against the table as he starts. She reaches out, her hands enveloping themselves in his dark locks of hair. Her professor rubs her clit in slow circles, and Calla responds with a small moan. He only starts to steadily increase his speed with his tongue, making her hips start to rise and her thighs squeeze a bit around his head involuntarily.

Professor Morgan’s mouth comes off of her just so he can laugh lightly, pushing her legs apart again before resting a hand on her lower belly, pressing her back more against the table. “You gotta keep _quiet_ and _still_ if you want me to keep doing this, Calla,” he says in a whisper.

“Sorry—sorry,” she apologizes quietly, shaking her head as her cheeks grow brighter.

This time, when he comes back to her pussy, his tongue licks her entrance completely, and this time when she moans it’s much softer and quieter. He then slips his tongue barely into her entrance, feeling her tight and moist walls around him as her wetness starts to coat his beard and come into his mouth. Professor Morgan has to use the hand on the lower part of her stomach to push her back down against the table as she starts to raise her hips again when he moves his tongue inside of her.

_I wanna savor—_

He quickly replaces his tongue with one of his long fingers, and his mouth goes back to focusing on her clit. Calla’s breathing only grows heavier, and her quiet moans more frequent, as she grips onto his hair while he increases the speed of his finger that’s inside her and his tongue that’s flicking her clit. He even adds in another finger—his middle finger—as he thrusts them in faster and faster.

_—Save it for later—_

He can tell she’s close to the edge as her breathing and gasps of pleasure become more frequent, along her with her moans, and as more of her juices start to spill out of her and coat his entire hand as it drips down. He can especially tell as she whimpers the occasional _“please”_ desperately, and he has to push down more on her stomach as she tries to raise her hips up instinctively. So Professor Morgan slides his fingers out of her and brings his head back. He stands up, still in between her legs, towering over her. Calla only opens her eyes that have been squeezed tight this entire time, looking up at him as her chest rises and falls. He puts his fingers in his mouth, sucking and licking her wetness off of them, and then takes his fingers back out.

_—The taste of flavor—_

“Well, _fuck me—_ I don’t think I’ve ever tasted something _so sweet_ till now,” Professor Morgan whispers before bringing his hand to his mouth, his lips coming over different parts of it to lick up the rest of her that got on him, rotating his hand as he does so till he’s done. He leans over her afterward, using his hands that are on either side of her head for support, as he comes down closer to her face.

_—Cause I’m a taker—_

Calla reaches up as he does, and she cups a cheek while the back of her other hand comes to his jaw. “Looks like you got me _all over you,”_ she whispers, wiping his beard with the back of her hand.

 _“Mmmm...did you now, Miss Villanueva?”_ Professor Morgan responds with a smile, and he grabs her hand and brings it to his mouth. He uses his tongue to lick all over the back of it, and when he’s done he puts her index and middle fingers in his mouth that he sucks on. He looks down at her, watching as she bites down on her bottom lip while smiling, and takes her fingers out of his mouth. “I just can’t get enough of you.”

She licks her lips as she cups his other cheek with that hand now. “I think you know it’s mutual, Professor Morgan.”

_—Cause I’m a giver—_

He smiles as he leans in, then kissing her. Their lips stay closed, though, and despite this the kiss is still deep and immensely passionate—it is to where they both refuse to break it. Professor Morgan’s hands come down to his belt, undoing it, and he shoves his boxers and pants down, letting them fall to the floor around his ankles, as they continue to kiss. Her lips part, and when they do his upper lip comes in between them as he takes her bottom lip in between his, sucking on it. Calla starts to sit up, making Professor Morgan start to stand completely straight as she gets to where she’s sitting up straight, still on the edge of the table. He takes his erect, long cock in his hand by the base, steadying it in front of her entrance, as they kiss like this.

_—It’s only nature—_

Calla gasps against his lips when she feels his tip slide inside of her, and he slowly slides the rest of him into her. His hand lets go of his dick as he gets to where all of him fills her up. He cups her cheek with one hand, and slides an arm around her waist to pull her body in more against his. She keeps one of her hands on his cheek still while the other comes into his hair, fingers spreading through her wild locks that she barely grips onto. He slides nearly all the way out of her, and suddenly pushes himself into her all at once. Her lips leave his, eyes closing as she accidentally lets out a much louder moan, realizing that she does once it’s too late. Professor Morgan chuckles quietly against her ear, and presses his lips to her neck. _“Shhh, shhhhh, Calla,”_ he says as he laughs into her skin, planting more kisses on her neck as he continues to thrust in and out of her slowly.

She turns her head towards him a bit, giggling quietly into his ear as well. “Sorry—sorry _again,”_ Calla replies through her own very soft laughter—as she feels his lips pressing to her neck over and over again, making her just barely moan into his ear. The hand on his cheek leaves and wraps around his neck, pulling him in closer to her as he continues to thrust in and out of her, gradually picking up the pace.

Little do they know—little do _both_ of them know—someone has been standing outside the door this entire time. And although the door is locked, and the blinds of the small window on the door are closed, he can just _barely_ hear an occasional sound one or both of them make—some of the laughter and shushing _—he can hear it._

And after Jake Fischer hears Calla’s loud moan, followed by their Professor’s laughter as she shushes her and Calla’s laughter as she (attempts) to quietly apologize, he decides to take his leave now—he decides to finally turn and walk away, walking down the hall and leave the building. All he can do is shake his head as he thinks to himself—thinks about what he’s exactly going to do about the discovery of this that, and all the different options he now has in his hands with ways he could _use_ it to his advantage—ignore it and act like it never happened—or maybe be the good friend he’s supposed to be that they’ve always been for each other…

_—I live for danger._

Professor Morgan is groaning, pressing his lips to her neck when he does to try and suppress the volume of the sounds he’s making—and as Calla moans more and more, she presses her lips to his cheek, jaw, or neck—just kisses him wherever she can in that moment to keep herself quiet. And as he thrusts in and out of her as fast as possible—as he nearly jackrabbits in her, brow furrowed and their eyes shut tight as he does, breathing completely on one another’s skin—it’s nothing but affectionate kisses on each other’s skin. It is, until when Calla finally comes, her body slightly spasming in his arms as the arm wrapped around his shoulders tightly grips onto him—until Professor Morgan quickly follows right after her, taking her face and slamming his lips against his as she groans, cock twitching before his seed shoots out and spills into her. His thrusts slow down, and he stops after a few more times when he knows he’s done.

Calla’s lips leave his. She presses her forehead against his shoulder, and he dips his head all the way back while they catch their breaths. Professor Morgan slides out of her after a minute or so, and she lifts her head off of him as he takes a step back. Their hands leave one another as he lets out a sigh, eyes still closed. And when he opens his eyes and sees her—he sees her sitting on the very spot she always is seated at in class, legs spread _wide_ and her pussy looking completely _fucked_ by _him, her professor—_ Professor Morgan shakes his head as he starts to laugh.

Calla furrows her brow as he does, slightly confused. “You want to share with the _class_ what’s so funny, _Professor Morgan?”_ she asks jokingly, and he only laughs a bit more.

He licks his lips before telling her. “You realize we just fucked _right_ where you sit for _every class,_ right?”

She throws her head back, trying to keep her giggling down by putting her hand over her mouth. Her cheeks are completely bright pink when she brings it back down, and her hand is off her mouth as she grins at him. “Well, I guess it’s only fair, considering where we did it last time,” Calla shrugs.

She hops off the table as they both quietly laugh, and she grabs her underwear and pants off the chair. As she puts those back on, followed by her boots, Professor Morgan puts his pants and boxers back on as well. He tightens his belt and then grabs his blazer that’s on the chair, pulling that on over his body. When he’s done, he leans back against the table of the row just behind them—the very spot where Jake Fischer sits—arms crossed over his chest as he watches Calla start to put her puffy, green coat on. But he takes a step forward to her, and he grabs the left side of it out of nowhere and helps her with putting it on, taking her by surprise.

Calla lifts her head up and turns it back, looking back to him as she blinks her eyes as he helps her slide her left arm into the sleeve. “Thank you…” she whispers softly, her brown eyes looking up into his hazel ones. She takes her hair out from under the jacket, fluffing it underneath, before turning away and grabbing her messenger bag.

“How about another ride home?” Professor Morgan asks, and Calla turns around so she’s completely facing him.

And she’s gazing up at him—she’s gazing up at him, her eyes softening as she does, because she sees something in his eyes that she’s never seen before. She sees what she felt just minutes ago, when he was pressing kiss after kiss into her neck—when he kissed her at the very end and when he did her lips were ignited with flames.

She sees those light brown, hazel eyes of his looking back at her like he doesn’t want to let go—like he doesn’t want to leave _—like he doesn’t want this to end._

And Calla realizes she doesn’t want this to end either.

“Yeah,” Calla nods her head, giving him a close-lipped smile. “I’d really like that a lot…”

Professor Morgan smiles back at her, steps forward, and slides his arms around her waist. “Good—because I’d really like that, too,” he replies, making her smile grow wider. He presses his lips to hers briefly for a sweet kiss before pulling away, letting go of her. He walks down the row and then the aisle, to the center of the classroom to collect his belongings, and Calla follows behind him the entire way.

Professor Morgan puts everything away neatly in his bag. He then takes his black, leather jacket off the back of the chair that’s in front of the table, puts that on, and then slides his messenger bag on across his body. Both him and Calla leave the classroom together, and as they walk through the building and out into the cold, New York evening air, they talk about class and negotiations. They walk a block before reaching where his motorcycle is parked. And just like before they put the helmets on, Calla puts her bag across her body, and she climbs onto the motorcycle behind him. Her arms slide around her professor’s torso, and she presses the side of her face against his back as she holds on.

But unlike last time, before starting up the engine and taking off, Professor Morgan puts his hand over her hands that are locked together and squeezes them tight. His thumb traces small circles into one of her hands as he turns on the engine, and he finally lets go so he can grip onto the handles of his motorcycle.

* * *

_10:30 P.M._  
_Calla Villanueva’s Apartment_  
Brooklyn, New York City, New York

We stop just outside of my apartment, Professor Morgan parking his motorcycle on the curb. I climb off the back of it and take my helmet off, shaking my wild curls out as I do. I hear his familiar, light chuckling as I do, and I only press my lips together as I try not to smile when I turn my head to look back at him.

He’s already off his bike, standing with me on the sidewalk. “What?” he asks with a wide smile, just after taking his helmet off. “I can’t fucking help it—you look _adorable_ when you do that!”

I giggle as I hand him my helmet, and he puts them both away. He takes a step towards me, reaching out to grab my hand. I feel my cheeks burning as he smiles at me when he does, starting to pull me along to the stoop. We walk up those small set of stairs to the front door of the apartment building I live in, and we turn to face each other. Professor Morgan wraps an arm around my lower back, pulling me in against his body. Then he lifts up the hand he’s been holding onto this entire time in between us, bringing it up till he places his lips against the back of it, eyes on me the entire time. I’m completely certain I’m blushing by this point, because my cheeks hurt so much from smiling as I grin at him in this very moment.

He then leans in, letting go of my hand so both his arms are wrapped around my waist now, and he holds me tight against himself. I wrap my arms around his torso, holding him as well. I furrow my brow when I feel him squeeze me even tighter, though, and his lips are at my neck again.

“I don’t want to leave,” he whispers against my skin. My entire body relaxes against him now and I close my eyes, pressing the side of my face to his chest.

“I don’t want to leave you, Calla.”

And I know exactly what he means—I know exactly what he means, because that’s what I felt earlier at the end of our mentorship session—it’s what I felt at the end of class this evening. And tonight was the first time I’ve felt like this in a very long time— _it’s the first time I’ve felt like this in a year, since Rhett…_

“I don’t want you too, either,” I reply, my lips at his ear. I only squeeze him more in my arms, trying to be as close to him as possible even though it’s physically impossible at this point.

But then I let go of him, and I take his face in both my hands. I pull back just a bit as I bring his head up, making him look at me.

“I don’t want you to leave, Jeffrey.”

I feel his cheeks rise against my palms, and I see the wrinkles around his eyes from smiling too much grow more pronounced as he smiles at me.  
“You said my name for the first time— _actually_ called me by my first name.”

I furrow my brow, confused at what he’s saying—I’ve always called him by his name...But then it suddenly dawns on me what he’s talking about, and exactly what I _just_ said, and my eyes widen in realization before I start to smile back at him.

“Sorry,” I say as I giggle, “But I guess now that we’ve had sex...hmmm… _three_ times now, that it’s about time I did, huh?” We both laugh together at that.

And then as we stop laughing, his smile falls—his face becomes flat in my hands, and his eyes are looking deep into mine. I continue to cup one cheek as my other hand comes down to his jaw, running my fingers along his beard affectionately.

“What’s going on, Calla?”

I knit my brows together, and he elaborates a bit more.

“I mean, what’s going on...with us?”

He’s looking into my eyes as if he’s searching for an answer—as if he’s searching for what I’m about to say, wanting to know as I even try and figure that out myself…

“I—I don’t know…” I answer honestly with wide eyes. “But I…”

I swallow as the tips of my fingers run over his soft, yet pleasantly scratchy beard—as my thumb traces small circles against his cheekbone absentmindedly.

“But I’m okay with that. Because I just like—whatever _this_ is.”

He grabs my hand that’s on his cheek, and he turns his head and presses his lips to my palm. “And I like it, too.” Professor Morgan lets go of my hand and I place it back on his cheek—he leans into me, lips barely against mine, before continuing. “I like _this_ —I like _you—_ and I don’t know how else to put it.”

My lips slightly part, and they are barely against his own as we continue to look into each other’s eyes. They are, until he kisses me, and we close our eyes—as he grabs my face with one of his hands, tilting my head up more, his thumb running up and down along my throat while his other fingers are spread wide across my cheek—as I press mine back to him. And just as they did earlier when our lips met for the first time for today while we were in his office—just as they did when our lips met for the first time _ever_ just weeks ago—they mold and move together—melt together like we both do against each other.

I pull away and break the kiss this time, our eyes meeting as they open. I swallow and turn my head away, and my hands fall off him as I dig into my bag and take out my keys. Professor Morgan’s hand falls off my face, but his arms are just barely wrapped around my lower back still. And I turn in his arms to face the door to the apartment building, unlocking and then opening it. I turn to him after I’m done, using my back to keep the door open, and I press my lips together.

“I’ll see you soon, Calla.”

“Goodnight, _Jeffrey.”_

He only smiles in return, letting go of me before turning and walking down the stoop, hands in his pockets. Professor Morgan walks over to his motorcycle and puts his helmet on. He sits down on it and starts the engine, and this entire time I stand in the doorway and watch him, waiting for when I _know_ he’ll turn around and look at me one last time for tonight.

And when he does, Jeffrey smiles as he sees I’ve been waiting for our eyes to meet one last time, and I only smile and wave at him once he does. His cheeks are pink, both from the bitter cold air nipping at his skin and this very moment, just as mine are.

Then he takes off, just like that—takes off into the night air as I’m left standing here—as I’m left standing here, looking up at the moon which hangs above this bright city, feeling myself grow light and the pit of my stomach tingling.

_Let’s embrace the point of no return. Now I don’t want to see the end begin._


	10. Back On Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30 single-spaced-pages, & 17,385 words long :-)
> 
> Written to "Hello Hello" by Lewis Watson & "Back On Love" by Emily Kinney

**Spring Semester, Week 6  
** _8:00 P.M., Saturday  
_ _Calla Villanueva’s Apartment_  
_Brooklyn, NYC, New York_

The latest episode of The Good Fight, which aired earlier this afternoon, comes to an end on my television screen. We’re both finishing up dinner and our glasses that sit on my coffee table in front of us are filled with chardonnay. I readjust my position on my sofa as I reach and grab my glass, bringing it to me.

“So, Calla,” Jake says, turning to face me from where he sits beside me.

I turn my head to look at him, my eyebrows completely raised as I bring my glass to my lips. “Yeah, what’s up?”

He licks his lips, and he’s silent for the next few seconds. I can see his lips begin to move—I can see them begin to move as he figures out the words to say next. My brows relax and I take a sip of my wine.

“I...wanted to tell you first—I just thought you deserved to know, since we’re so close and all…”

I furrow my brow and make a funny face at him. “Yeah...What’s going on, Jake…?” I ask hesitantly.

He starts to crack a smile, but even that quickly falls as he presses his lips together. “Shit. Fuck—I don’t even know where to start…” Jake runs his hands over his clean-shaven face.

“Just fucking say it,” I reply seriously. “Just get it out. Be straight-forward with me.”

And that’s exactly what he does—that’s when he replies, without a single second after what I just said.

“I know you and Professor Morgan are fucking.”

I blink my eyes at him—my fingertips press firmly into the large wine glass in my hand that hovers just above my lips—my lips part, not sure what to say at all.

_“I know you and Professor Morgan are fucking.”_

The pit of my stomach is burning and it won’t stop.

_“I know you and Professor Morgan are fucking.”_

It won’t stop repeating in my mind—it won’t stop on this fucking loop it’s on as I stare blankly at him—as I’m taken back to Wednesday evening after class, Jeffrey pulling me closer to the edge of the table with his hands on the back of my legs…

_“I know you and Professor Morgan are fucking.”_

I throw my glass back, chugging the ton of chardonnay I had leftover like I’m back to my freshman year of college at a fucking frat party in California. I gulp it all down and put my glass on the coffee table, then wipe my lips with the back of my hand. I run my tongue over my bottom lip as I turn my head away from Jake and stare absentmindedly at my television screen.

“Calla…” he says my name slowly and begins to move a hand towards me, letting it hover just over my leg.

“No—Don’t—I—” I shake my head and I lift one of my hands up, the back of it barely pressing against Jake’s palm. “Shit, I don’t—oh my god, I don’t know,” I continue to shake my head.

“What? What don’t you know?” he asks gently.

I jump up from the sofa and to my feet—my fingers bury themselves in my tight curls as I turn to look down at Jake, who innocently stares up at me. “What do you think I don’t know?! I don’t know if I should be fucking _pissed_ at you for—for—for listening…!” I stumble on my words as I feel my entire body heat up intently, and my knees begin to tremble. “Or if I should be grateful for you telling me—or fucking _both—_ I don’t know!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jake begins and stands up, hands reaching out to grab my arms. And this time I let him grab my arms, and he pulls them down. My fingers leave my hair and he presses my arms to my sides. “I haven’t told anyone. And I’m not going to.”

_I’m so confused—_

I look into the depths of his grey eyes, truly wondering if he means that—truly wondering if he doesn’t have some kind of plan to use this against me. Because anyone else in law school...well _fuck,_ anyone else would jump on this opportunity instantly…

“Why?” I ask quietly. “You could—you know that. I _know_ you know that, Jake. You remember the first year of law school…”

_—I don’t know what’s up or down._

He smiles and dips his head down briefly, laughing lightly. And then Jake brings his head back up, his floppy and messy brown hair moving with him. “I _know_ you remember that year, Calla. But that was two years ago. Things have changed. For fucksake, we take the Multi-State Bar here in _two months!_ It’s not going to make a difference!”

I bite down on my lip nervously, trying to figure out if I can believe him—trying to figure out if I can believe him, who was once my enemy and now my best friend.

“And anyway…” Jake continues, and his pale cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “It’s _Professor Morgan._ If he were after me, I would be all over that,” he winks at me.

I throw my head back in laughter and lift my hands up to cover my mouth. “Oh my god...I should have _known!”_ I reply with a shake of my head. Jake only wiggles his eyebrows back at me.

Then, his smile falls.

“Just...be careful, okay? Just because I’m not telling anyone doesn’t mean anyone else wouldn’t be _more than happy_ to report this if they found out. And for fucksake, Calla…” Jake grabs my hands and shakes them in between us, “Don’t fuck in the classroom of all places! Fuck in his office—at his, or even your place! At least you got the whole fucking-my-professor-in-the-classroom fantasy out of your system now.”

I suck in a deep breath and let it out, nodding my head slowly. “I know, I know. It won’t happen again.”

Jake lets go of my hands now and turns away, grabbing his messenger bag that’s sitting up against the sofa on the floor. “I’m going to take off now.”

I nod my head and we walk to my front door together. He opens it and then I grab it to keep the door open for him.

“And you better fucking keep me up to date on _every_ detail, got it?” Jake grins at me as he walks out the door.

I teasingly lift my eyebrows up and down at him. _“Oh,_ _I will.”_

* * *

**Spring Semester, Week 7  
** _6:30 P.M., Monday—3rd Mentorship Session  
_ _Professor Morgan’s Office_

I clear my throat and then swallow, trying to find the words to start this negotiation simulation we’re supposed to run between us right now before the large one we’re having in Wednesday’s class. I open my mouth, about to begin, when he cuts me off.

“Pause for a bit more. You’re a natural at this—don’t make it so forced,” Professor Morgan says from where he sits on the other side of his desk, leaning back in his chair with his right ankle on his left knee and hands in his lap. “Let me tell you this,” He starts to sit up now, “People who are good at negotiations developed these skills starting from their childhood, and even use that to bond with clients and others. So what did _you_ learn from your childhood, Miss Villanueva? How was _your_ childhood?”

I shut my mouth and press my lips together, staring right back at him. I let out a sigh and shake my head. “No—I mean, I didn’t have it as bad as some people have…”

He briefly knits his brows together, giving me a funny face as he sits up and puts both feet on the ground. He scoots his chair as close as possible to the desk and places his laced hands on his desk. “No. _Tell me,”_ Professor Morgan urges.

I start to smile but I force myself to stop, shaking my head as I try to pull myself together. “It was really just my little sister and I most of the time—Sunny is her name,” I begin.

“And your parents?” he inquires further, raising a brow.

My brows crease as I give him a strange look.

Professor Morgan only laughs, raising his hands up. “Acting like I’m a damn therapist isn’t my intention here, I promise. I’m just curious. You don’t have to, if you don’t—”

“No!” I interject quickly and shake my head a bit. “No, it’s totally okay. I’m just not use to talking about it, and especially with someone asking…”

“Well,” Professor Morgan lets out a small breath as he checks his watch. “You have thirty minutes, so take your time,” he smiles.

“My parents…” I continue a few seconds after him, and I smile back. “They weren’t...really around, ya know?” I twist my lips in thought, not sure how to really convey what I mean—just trying to find the _words._ “Around as in—well... _emotionally._ They took care of us financially, but there never went a week where there wasn’t two nights of hell, with them screaming and throwing shit at each other for no reason...over nothing…”

I find myself starting to zone out a bit, staring down at the mahogany that makes up his desk. I blink my eyes and lift my head back up, finding Professor Morgan watching me with careful eyes from behind his glasses, and his fingertips are pressed to his lips.

“Like toddlers, really—that’s how they were. And I grew up stepping in between that, forcing them to sit down and talk it out with me in between, or even sending them off to separate corners to cool down before coming back together. So I grew up taking care of them emotionally, and at the same time taking care of Sunny...because I wanted her to at least grow up normal.”

I let out a sigh and lean back in my chair, continuing to look back at him. And suddenly I’m cracking a smile as I shake my head. “But being looked after and practically raised by your older sister isn’t exactly _normal_ now, is it?” I laugh nervously.

“Not exactly, no,” Professor Morgan finally replies, shaking his head. He presses his lips together, though, and I can see his eyes get that particular glow in them—that particular light illuminating in them with a bit of warmness. “But I know what you mean, in a sense. Relationships are complicated _—finicky—_ you never know what will be the breaking point of one.”

I furrow my brows as I watch his lips twist in thought. His eyes are no longer on mine; rather, they are looking down at the surface of his desk just as I was before. “What makes you say that?” I ask. “And more importantly,” I lean back in my seat and cross my arms over my chest before continuing, “You said yourself that you were one of ‘top-notch’ negotiators. What happened to make _you_ like that?”

He laughs, and I bite my lip as I see the edges of his eyes crinkle as he does. Professor Morgan meets my eyes finally while he does, and for a moment it’s just us smiling at each other like this. “Oh,” he sighs, and runs his hands over his beard till they drop down to his lap. “I should have fucking known you’d pull that on me, Miss Villanueva. I know you all too well,” He narrows his eyes playfully on mine. My grin only widens in return as I keep my eyes locked on him.

“Don’t dodge my questions now, Professor Morgan,” I counter.

I’ve trapped him and he knows it—he knows there’s no getting out of this one—that he should have seen that when he inquired about my past in the first place. He should have known I’d do the same, considering the type of relationship we have going on between us…

He sighs as he glances down at his desk with downcast eyes. I hear the usual deepness of his voice as the carbon dioxide travels out of his lungs, up his throat, and leaves through his parted lips and nostrils. His tongue travels between his lips as he sucks in the oxygen all around us through his nostrils, and I see how his chest rises and then falls when he does so. His lips then press together and become straight; there’s just that ever-so slight crease between his brows that I can hardly make out, yet somehow it’s so entirely noticeable.

And during this entire time, I feel my own facial expression change as I watch him. My arms unfold and come to my sides—my fingers curl around the edge of my seat, gripping the cool wood with all that I am. My smile completely fades and my lips press together. I lean my torso just a bit forward, adjusting myself so I’m sitting upright again. I can even feel how the way I’m looking at him changes—how my eyes go from glowing with happiness and cunningness, to being filled with concern and pain.

I can, because I can feel nothing but sadness fill up this entire room because it’s radiating so brightly from his lost, dark eyes—and that feeling can’t help but fill me up too.

“I was married before.”

He breaks the silence but he’s still looking down at his desk. I briefly look him up and down, taking in his posture and form. Professor Morgan is sitting up straight, with his fingers laced together and hands in his lap; but his back is slightly hunched over as his head just ever-so slightly hangs low while keeping those dark eyes I can barely see looking down at his desk.

I don’t reply back and wait for him to continue instead.

“She, um...Her name was Katherine. We met the first weekend of our freshman year of college at UCLA. We didn’t start dating, though, until our junior year. We were best friends leading up to then and had dated other people; we were tied at the hip, and everyone kept saying we’d date eventually—that we might as well start dating now, but we didn’t believe them. But when we finally did and realized how we _truly_ felt about one another, it all came so... _naturally,_ you know?”

Professor Morgan finally lifts his head up, and I’m met with the sight of his sad, mocha eyes staring deeply at me. The corners of his lips, which are usually just slightly curled up even when they form a straight line, are now curled down just a bit.

“I know—I completely do,” I reply softly.

He barely nods just a bit as he hears my response before continuing. “Katherine and I had planned on breaking up right after graduation; I was going to be starting law school at Yale in the fall while she would be staying in LA to go to UCLA’s nursing school. We both knew it was fucking _bullshit_ when people say that long distance relationships work if you try to make them work, because _they never do._ But when graduation came and went, we just...we couldn’t do it. So we gave the long distance a try.”

“And it clearly worked...right?” I can’t help but ask, starting to smile just a bit.

He smiles a little at my comment, too, and I can’t help but grin a bit more when I see that—when I see that bit of life return to his face and eyes. “Eh...you’re both right and wrong, _clearly_ ,” he chuckles.

He swallows and then continues on. “Well, my first year of law school was honestly not that fucking great. Let’s just say I doubted myself—doubted if this was something I really wanted to do like I always thought it was—doubted if this was even meant for me. My grades weren’t the best—I was mediocre, _average,_ even though I gave it my all constantly. But Katherine...she was always there for me—she helped me through all of that. And she was there for me even when the next two years of law school were nothing but successful and I was already starting to make a name for myself. Meanwhile, Katherine was working at UCLA’s hospital as a registered nurse. Once finishing law school came around for me, we decided that Katherine would come out here to New York, where we’d both live and work together.”

I nod my head so he knows that I’m still listening. And as I do, and Professor Morgan flashes me a small smile in return, I wonder where it all went wrong—when and how it all fell apart to make him as visibly upset as he was just moments ago…

“And we did just that—we lived in a tiny ass studio apartment together, until after I passed the multistate bar and was instantly able to start working as a full-time associate at the huge law firm I had been working as a summer associate for in between years, and a part-time associate for at the beginning of my last year of law school. So my pay obviously increased majorly, and with both of our salaries combined we were able to afford a nice, roomy one-bedroom apartment. I started putting money aside as soon as we started leasing the new apartment to buy an engagement ring for her…”

I see it again—see the deep sadness fill up his eyes and face, but it’s only for a moment this time.

“It took me a few months, but I was able to, and she said yes. We got married a year and a half later…” He pauses, twisting his lips in thought and looking back down as if trying to recall something. Professor Morgan’s eyes widen as he does, and he nods his head for a bit. “Right! We got married in September 1993.”

There’s a question that’s been poking and prodding me ever since the beginning of the semester, when I first saw him, and I can’t help but want to ask it now that he’s brought up the month and year they got married.

“Hold on,” I say quickly, and this clearly catches him off guard because he knits his brows together and blinks his eyes as he looks at me. “I just—I’ve been wanting to ask this since the first day of class, and I’ve been avoiding asking it with all of me but I just _have_ to now that you’re bringing this all up.”

Before I get the chance to ask, Professor Morgan is chuckling lightly at me. “I already know—my age, right?” he asks, a smirk forming on his features and brown eyes becoming a bit lighter in color as they glow daringly at me.

I laugh and smile uneasily, nodding my head. “Yeah...I hope that’s alright…?”

He licks his lips and then continues to laugh a bit more. “I think it’s _more_ than alright, given the circumstances…” His eyes look down and trail back up after he says this, landing on my lips before locking back with my eyes again.

My smile relaxes and becomes much more natural now knowing that it isn’t an issue at all to ask. “So...how old are you then?” I ask, playfully licking my lips before I raise my brows completely.

“Ohhhh…” he begins, and then groans as he unfolds his hands and runs them over his beard. “Promise not to run out this door screaming, alright? And _especially_ promise not act fucking shocked! You _know,_ or at least you _should have known,_ what you got yourself into that first time.”

“I _pinky_ promise!” I say with a wide grin, holding up my right pinky in the air. “And you know, pinky promises are _very_ serious and are not to be taken lightly; this is a promise you’ll be able to enforce against me if I break it even though it’s not written,” I say, and start to lean forward. “So raise that pinky up!” I continue, sticking my tongue out at him teasingly.

He shakes his head at me as he scoots his chair closer, _“You—_ I should have _known_ that _you’d_ say something like that.”

The top of my stomach, just beneath my breasts, presses against the edge of his desk as I extend my arm out. “Restatement 2nd of Contracts, Restatement Two,” I reply back. As I do, his chest presses against his desk as he also leans forward and extends his arm out towards me, all the while grinning from ear-to-ear at me.

His long, much larger pinky finger hooks around my smaller one, squeezing it tight. Somehow this simple and incredibly playful touch sends lightning through my veins and courses through my entire body, making my skin and especially my heart slightly tingle. My smile falls when it does, and I look up into his face and find that his is also gone—that his eyes are on my lips, and I find my own looking down at his in return, until both of our eyes flicker back up and meet once more.

He lets go of me and clears his throat, settling back in his seat and moving it further away from his desk. I hear his deep, throaty breathing as he sits back down and adjusts himself. It’s just as I start to sit back in my seat that he speaks up.

“C’mere,” Professor Morgan says as a hand pats his upper-right thigh, and motions towards me with the slight upward tilt of his chin. “You don’t have to...be _so far away, Calla,”_ he says this much more softly and in that low, deep voice of his.

And instantly I feel my entire body heat up—feel the top of my head, my arms and fingers, the pit of my stomach, my lower region, and even the tips of my toes grow so incredibly warm. My heart and deep within my chest do as well, only they feel tight and like they’re being squeezed in the best way possible at the same time. I slowly and just barely nod my head while I look at him with wide eyes—as my eyes look at his own and find that there’s warmth and care for me glowing in them. And I can’t even describe the amount of comfort this makes me feel, considering what our topic of conversation has been, and still is, about.

_When he holds my hand, my pulse runs red and wild._

I stand up from my seat and walk around his desk, coming to him. His hand moves from his lap and his arms spread out, as to give me room to sit down. I step around the front of him so I’m standing on his right side, and then settle myself down on his lap. I cross my legs and I keep them dangling off the right side while my torso turns just a bit to face him. Professor Morgan’s long arms come around my mid to upper back as he does, and they overlap one another as he pulls me in close. I see his eyes close and a look of relaxation and care _—true care—_ come on his face until he’s out of my line of sight when he rests his head on my shoulder.

_I was a fighter for my freedom—_

I hear it again, but this time it’s so close and right into my ear—that familiar and somehow comforting sound of his deep and throaty breathing, which comes from his parted lips as his hot breath hits my ear and my neck. His head is turned into me, and I can feel his stubble and the tip of his nose against the side of my neck.

_—Now I’m a fool for his touch._

I bring my arms around his torso, and then they curl up around his back as I grip his shoulders with my hands. I lean slightly into him as my hands squeeze his shoulders gently, and I dip my head down just a bit. The tip of my nose and my lips just slightly press into the nape of his neck, and I then close my eyes. I press my lips into his skin there, and the salty yet sweet taste of his skin—the subtle smell of cologne and worn leather—fill up my senses, just as all of him consumes me in this moment.

I can even feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest against mine as we remain like this.

He lets out a long breath, which hits and covers all the skin of my neck and side of my face, before pressing his lips to the side of my neck. He leaves a feathery kiss on one spot, then leaves a much firmer one on another. He stops there and tightens his arms around my body, as if trying to grow closer even though we’re as close as possible already. But it still makes my entire body feel comfortable—makes my entire belly, right down to the deep pit, feel full of nothing but affection, warmth, care, and content—full enough to last me a lifetime—to where I’ll never need more than just this from him.

 _“Calla,”_ he says my name softly, and leaves another gentle kiss on my neck. One arm shifts against my body as he brings a hand to the back of my head, holding me tenderly there as if I’m a porcelain doll that can break under his touch. His lips come to my earlobe, and move against me as he continues to talk. “It won’t change anything between us, right?”

I don’t nod my head. I leave a sweet kiss on his neck instead, and whisper my answer against his skin. _“Never.”_

He finally pulls his head back from me, and uses the hand on the back of my head to turn me so I can look at him. His deep eyes are locked on my wide, doe ones that gaze at him.

“I’m fifty. I turn fifty-one in two months, in April.”

He gives me my answer—the one I’ve been trying to guess since the first day of class—and continues to look at me, as if waiting for to get up and walk right out this door. And after two seconds of silence passes and he sees that I haven’t gotten up yet—that in actuality, a small smile is slowly starting to form on my lips, he starts to desperately search my eyes for what I’m thinking and how I’m feeling after learning this.

I let go of his right shoulder, my arm unhooks from his torso, and instead I cup the right side of his face gently with my hand. “You’re acting like this entire time you’ve been old enough to be my _grandfather,_ when I’ve known this entire time that you’re probably in your mid to late 40’s, or at the latest in your early 50’s,” I’m smiling completely now as I shake my head. “On the other hand, you are old enough to be my father, but I could tell this entire time. So why would I get up and leave now?”

His cheek rises and the side of his face presses just a bit against my palm as he smiles at me, and he starts to chuckle at everything I was saying. “I _knew_ that you did know, but I couldn’t help but be worried. Considering you’re…” He presses his lips together in thought, eyes looking away from me momentarily before suddenly glancing back to me “Wait, how old _are you?”_

My eyes widen and I’m still smiling as I realize, just as he did right now, that we had never gone over my age either. “Twenty-six, as of two weeks ago,” I answer.

 _“Two weeks ago?!”_ Professor Morgan remarks, raising his brows. “Your birthday was two weeks ago, and you didn’t say anything?!”

I simply shrug. “We kind of weren’t at the level we’ve been at when it was my birthday,” I respond. “But if it makes you feel any better, our first time together did happen the day after my birthday, so I guess you can consider that as a birthday present.”

He smirks deviously at me as I say this last part, and his tongue runs between his lips. “Oh, that makes me feel _a lot_ better, actually,” Professor Morgan replies as he leans in a bit closer, his eyes still on mine. I know what he wants—know what he’s going for in this moment, and I can’t help myself either.

Both of our eyes close before our lips meet in a chaste kiss, starting out light and gentle. And I’m hit with the same feeling I get every single time our skin meets, even if it’s just barely—the same feeling every time our lips make contact—the same feeling every time I find him gazing deeply and affectionately at me: the feeling of subtle lightning starting at the tips of my fingers and toes, making them tingle, course through all my veins leaving a trail of hot flames in it’s path.

His lips leave mine for a second when that first kiss ends, only to press against mine again a bit more deeper and longer this time, his lower lip slightly slipping in between my own.

I’m met with the sudden feeling of urgency—a feeling that rushes through me and takes over my body. Because before he can pull away, I press my lips more against his, and slip my tongue just barely out of my mouth and run it along his bottom lip that’s in between my own still. And I know _—oh, I’m fairly certain—_ that the same feeling is consuming his body, because the hand on the back of my head burying its fingers into my hair, just slightly squeezing my curls, and him parting his lips more as he deepens the kiss tells me that.

I try and scoot a bit closer to him in his lap—try to press all of my body to him as close as possible even though I know I can’t get any closer than this—as our tongues meet. Professor Morgan groans against me as he squeezes the arm still wrapped around my mid-back, making my chest press more into his and my back arch at the same time.

Despite how much I want to carry this on—despite how much I want this to continue, and what else I’d like to happen with him—I know I need to stop because of time. And so I pull away, my head immediately turning down to check my watch as I catch my breath.

_7:27 P.M._

“Fuck!” I curse as I get off him and stand up. “We lost track of time—”

“Don’t—not yet, at least,” Professor Morgan immediately cuts me off just as I turn away from him to walk to the other side of his desk where my belongings are. “Let me run this idea past you. And I have a feeling you’ll be _more_ than up for it.”

I momentarily knit my brows together in confusion, turning around to look at him. When I do, I find that he’s smirking as he stands up.

“So far, with how many times and for how long our class is scheduled to meet this semester, we will be going _way_ over the required hours each class has to meet for under the American Bar Association. I didn’t plan on having us going over much today in class; I was actually expecting to be letting class out an hour early with how little we have. I can walk over there now, tell everyone class is cancelled and we’ll cover what was planned for today at the beginning of Wednesday’s class before the simulation. So that way instead, _you and I…”_

My cheeks hurt so much from smiling right now—and I can’t stop smiling. I’m grinning as large as possible because all of this _—fucking all of this—_ makes my entire body grow warmer and the pit of my stomach lighter. I bite down on lip as I hear the last bit of what he says, and I start to quickly nod my head.

“Go!” I say happily, motioning towards the door with my hands. “Make up whatever excuse you need to—just go right now!”

We’re both giddy and excited, acting like two teenagers playing hookie so they can be all lovey-dovey and fuck. And I know it’s the both of us, because as I tell him to go and do this right now and I motion to the door wildly with my hands, his smile is larger than I’ve ever seen it before.

“Okay, okay!” he replies, hurriedly and eagerly walking around his desk towards the front door. I take a step back, the back of my legs pressing to the side of his desk the top of it just barely below my ass, not wanting to be in his way as he walks by me. But Professor Morgan pauses as I do, turning to face me. He wraps his arms around my lower back and presses his body completely against mine, instantly capturing my lips in a passionate, heated, and deep kiss. He pulls away just before we give ourselves the chance of getting caught up in the moment again.

“Stay here, and wait for me. Turn off the lights after I step out, keep the blinds shut, and lock the door. I’ll knock two times when I’m back so you know it’s me. We’ll figure out what the plan will be when I get back,” Professor Morgan whispers to me.

“Don’t worry—I won’t be going _anywhere,”_ I say, licking my lips before smirking.

He chuckles lightly at my response, and then suddenly gives both my ass cheeks a squeeze with his hands. “Good. I’ll make sure to give you a reward for being a perfect student when I get back,” Professor Morgan teases. He finally steps away from me and walks to the door, opening it just enough so he can slip out and shutting it behind him.

I walk over to the door quickly and lock it, check to make sure the blinds are closed, then shut off the lights as instructed. I know his reasoning for this—that way people actually think that he is gone and not just hiding out in here; it makes complete sense. You never know who from the faculty, administration, or even from his students might come here and try to see if he’s available to talk.

Once I do that, and I give a bit of time for my eyes to adjust to the darkness to where I can make out where everything is in his office, I carefully walk back over and take a seat in his chair behind his desk, waiting patiently for him to come back as promised.

* * *

_7:40 P.M._

I lift my head up from the glowing phone in my hand when I hear two quick, light, and happy knocks. I smile, lock my phone screen as I stand up, place it on the chair, and immediately walk through his office and to the door. I barely open it enough so I can see his face, seeing him smiling from ear-to-ear. I step back a bit, opening it to where he can slip in and then I shut it immediately once he’s inside. Both my hands are on the handle as I close the door, and just as it clicks shut, Professor Morgan’s arms circle around my waist and he steps closer to me. The side of my face is turned to him as I look down, trying to make out the shape of the lock on the door handle since my eyes have to get adjusted to the dark again. His head dips down as I continue to try and make out the lock, his lips pressing to my cheek first in a sweet kiss. He then kisses me on my jawline soon after, this one just as sweet as the last but longer.

_Heart skip heady, you illuminate the sky._

I finally am able to make out the shape of the lock, and I press down and twist it in the right direction to make sure the handle is locked. My hands move up the door frame to the bolt, and I twist and lock that too. Once I’m done doing that, Professor Morgan pulls my body into his, and my head turns to face him. His arms are around my back, hands pressing firmly into the middle of my back causing me to arch into him. His lips are at my neck, and his tongue runs along the patch of skin they cover as he sucks down. I sigh and close my eyes, and I bring my arms around his neck to pull him in closer.

“I take that it went well?” I whisper, tilting my head to the side to give him easier access.

“Mhmmm,” he hums lowly, vibrations running through my neck as he does. I shiver under his grasp and let out a shaky sigh from the sensation. He pulls away, though, his head still tilted down so he can look at me in the dark. My feet start to move as I feel him begin to back us up towards the back of his office to a very familiar destination. “Those fucking ten minutes, having to answer questions on negotiations and next class’s simulation, were _excruciating,”_ Professor Morgan whispers as we slowly walk back.

“And why’s that?” I ask in a innocent whisper and with a close-lipped smile.

He lets out a low grunt as he suddenly picks me up without warning, setting me down so I’m sitting on the side of his desk. His hands plant themselves on my knees, and he spreads my legs as he steps in between them. I wrap one around his hips as he does, using my ankle to hook around his left hip and pull him in closer. Professor Morgan wraps his arms around my lower back, while I grip his shoulders with my hands. And during all this, I can feel the firm pressure of him right against my lower region, warm and hard, making me run my tongue over my lips.

“I think you know why,” Professor Morgan whispers into my ear, chuckling lightly.

I turn my head towards his, and our eyes meet as I do. “I _do_ know why,” I reply, lips pulling into a slight smirk. The side of his face, which is pressed against mine, curls into a smile as my own lips do—our rising cheekbones brush, and we both laugh incredibly quiet into one another.

“So how about that reward then, Miss Villanueva?” he whispers into my ear, followed by the very soft and low sound of our laughs. His nose barely brushes against the spot where the bottom of my ear and neck meet, causing a shiver to run up my spine. He presses his lips to that very spot, and gently sucks on my skin.

 _“Mmmm,”_ I reply back, both to that offer and the feeling of his lips on my neck, and my smile only grows wider. “Whenever you’re ready, Professor Morgan.”

_Somewhere steady, we hallucinate the highs._

I feel his arms scoop under my thighs, and he picks me up off his desk. As he brings my body up, the dark room spins around me, till I find myself lying on my back in his arms, with his left forearm under my knees. My eyebrows are raised and my eyes wide as I look at his face—of what I can make out in this dark office of his, the only source of light being what is leaking through the crack under the door. I make out his pearly white teeth as he flashes a crooked, cocky smile at me, before starting to walk to the right side of his office where the whiteboard is that he uses to help students out when they need help during office hours. He places me down carefully so I’m standing on my feet, then wraps his arms back around my body and pulls me in close.

I wrap my arms back around his neck, pulling him till the tips of our noses are brushing against each other. There’s nothing but smiles as my entire body grows impossibly lighter and lighter in this moment— _just being like this, with him, is more than enough for me._

_Living life unheady on a planet black and white—_

Our lips meet once more, and as we kiss he moves me so my back suddenly presses up against the whiteboard, and he steps in between my legs. One of his hands slides up to my face, his long fingers spreading apart to cover my cheek and neck as he tilts my head just a bit more up towards him. I let arms leave his neck, my hands coming to the collar of his light blue button-up shirt. I brush my fingertips along his covered collarbone till I reach his shoulders, then move my fingers down his biceps and forearms. I reach where his sleeves are rolled up at his elbows, and my soft skin meets his own that is covered in black hair. I feel Professor Morgan grip me tighter when the simple and light touch of my fingertips meets his skin there, grazing up and down his exposed forearms carefully. And when he does, I take my fingers off his skin and bring my hands to his chest. I pluck away at each button, undoing his shirt till I reach the last one at the bottom. I push back his shirt, making it open once I do, and place my hands on the top of his chest. My fingers curl around the patches of dark hair that make up his skin. When I do, Professor Morgan’s lips leave mine and meet the center of my collarbone where he groans against my hot flesh.

_—But the color’s heavy when it’s only you and I._

_“Fuck,_ want it that bad, huh?” he whispers, and I simply nod my head. One of my hands leaves his chest and comes to the back of his head, my fingers spreading apart and then burying themselves in his dark and wavy locks.

“C’mon—give it to me already, _Jeffrey,”_ I reply lowly. His name slips off the tip of my tongue so naturally, I barely notice it myself—it leaves my mouth warm and light like the atmosphere that surrounds us now—like how he makes me feel every moment.

His hand leaves my face, and both his hands trail down my torso—along the slight curve between my waist and hips. When he reaches my hip bones, the tips of his fingers move along the band of my jeans till they reach the center where the button and zipper is. My face feels so warm, and my chest and belly so tight that I can feel like I can hardly breathe as he does—as he plants kisses all along my neck as he does all of this.

He undoes the button and pulls down on the zipper of my jeans. He wiggles them down off my hips brings them down till they hit my mid-thighs. His lips leave my skin and his head tilts down, and I can see him slightly squint his eyes as he looks down at me. I furrow my brow, looking down as well trying to figure out what he’s looking at.

“Looks like...mint and lacey. Am I right?” Professor Morgan asks me in a quiet voice, and tilts his head up to look up at me. I do the same, and our eyes meet as I steadily nod my head.

“You got a good eye for an old man,” I tease playfully. I see this mischievous glint in his eyes even in this dark room and his lips form a smirk as he grabs my hips and suddenly presses me harder against the whiteboard. I can feel the thin metal tray on the bottom of it dig into the top of my hamstrings, just below my ass when he does, but _fuck_ does it feel good.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think an old man can fuck you like I do,” he challenges. Two fingers on each hip slide under the lace trim of my thong, hook around the material, and all at once pulls my panties down till they reach my jeans. I bite down on my lip as I gaze into his eyes, and he begins to smile when he sees the same look he just had in his reflecting in mine.

I slide my hands down his chest till I reach his belt. I undo it and then unzip his slacks, pulling them down along with his briefs at the same time. They slide down and drop to his ankles automatically. I feel the tip of his hard, long cock press against my lower belly when his pants do fall. Professor Morgan then pulls my pants and thong all the way down till they’re at my ankles, and afterwards he slides his hands up my legs slowly—he starts where my calves and ankles meet, all of his fingertips grazing against the outside of my calves slowly as he makes his way back up—grazing along my smooth skin as he reaches the top of my knees. His fingers move from the outside of my legs to the inside when he does reach my knees, and his fingers continue to graze against my skin along my inner thighs—they do, till he reaches my already soaking wet pussy. He puts his fingers together of his right hand and cups my pussy, and two of his fingertips barely insert themselves inside of me. I moan quietly at the sensation—at the added warmth and pressure—and he starts to chuckle.

_Hello, hello—_

_“So perfect, as always,”_ Professor Morgan coos, and our eyes meet again. We kiss again, and he leans his body more against mine as his fingers leave me and his hand leaves my pussy. He places both hands on my hips and squeezes them, his fingertips pressing so hard into my hip bones and I sigh into our kiss as he does.

_—Just let me hold you._

He suddenly uses his hands there to turn me around without warning, and the room and himself is spinning when he does. I find my chest pressed against the whiteboard this time, with the front of his body firmly against my back and the feeling of his erect cock in between the top of my inner thighs. I feel his hot breath on the nape of my neck when he leans in to whisper in my ear.

_Your lonely bones._

“I don’t think I can ever get enough of you, Calla,” Professor Morgan whispers, and I find a shiver running along my spine yet again. The plan of his right hand runs along the right side of my torso, repeatedly tracing the curve between my waist and hips over and over again, and his left hand leaves my hip.

“Please—never do,” I reply in a hushed voice, sounding so desperate—and I know I am—I know I’m desperate for him. _But I can’t help myself—I can’t, not when it’s him. Him._

I then feel the pressure from his tip just outside my entrance, slowly entering inside of me. I softly sigh and he lets out a very low groan as he fills me up one inch at a time, until I feel his balls at my entrance and him filling me to the hilt. His hands grip my waist, and he presses his lips to my neck again. He then slides out slowly till just his tip is inside me, and slides back in at the same pace.

_Just let me love you._

“Professor Morgan—” I moan quietly as I turn my face so my right cheek is pressed against the board. My lips are parted, light breaths slipping out of my mouth, and my eyes are closed.

“Jeffrey—” he replies back mixed with a groan as he gets to where he fills me all out. He slides out a bit more faster this time, but still at a decent and pleasurable slow pace where he’s taking his time. “Call me Jeffrey, just like before. Only call me—Professor Morgan—when we’re on campus—or in class,” he whispers between grunts and small moans, as he moves in and out of me at this pace that just slowly picks up.

I barely nod my head, my pressed up cheek rubbing against the whiteboard when I do. “Jeffrey,” I say in a quiet moan this time, and I squeeze my eyes a bit tighter and bite down on my lip as he slides out of me at this continued slow pace—at this pace that’s giving me the most pleasure I’ve ever had before, and I can tell it’s doing the same thing for him. “Jeffrey!” I whisper just barely louder this time as he brings himself back inside me. I bring my arms up to be placed on either side of my head, forearms pressing against the whiteboard. And when I do, his hands leave my waist and he hooks his arms around mine, setting his forearms directly next to my own. His lips are on my neck, sucking and barely nibbling, only adding more to the sensation.

“That’s my girl,” Jeffrey whispers into my ear, and I feel nothing but his hot breath on my neck and cheek—the warmth of his cock sliding in and out and an excruciating, yet incredibly pleasurable pace—of his flexed thighs against my hamstrings with every slow thrust.

And we continue like this—continue on like this for I don’t even know how long. And it’s so much different than all the other times we’ve done this exact act—not as fast as possible, in and out and get the job done kind—but slow, so slow and affectionate.

_Little whispers, sudden shivers—and for a moment nothing else._

As we both get clearly closer, he thrusts harder into me but keeps with the slow pace. Jeffrey brings his arms down so they wrap around my torso, squeezing me so tight and as close as possible against his body. His mouth is still at my earlobe, showering me there with nothing but uncontrollable, affectionate, and small kisses. I keep one forearm on the whiteboard, while my other leaves. That hand reaches out and grabs the side of his face; my fingers cup around his defined jawline and cheek, and I pull his face impossibly closer into me. My back arches and my ass presses further against him as I do. I can feel pieces of my curls sticking to the side of my face from the tiny bit of sweat that’s along the sides of my cheeks and top of my forehead. Our ragged, somehow quiet breathing is all I can hear as he keeps sliding in and out of me slowly and incredibly hard. I grasp onto him—keep pulling him in as he kisses every inch of my slightly damp, salty skin of my neck and upper back—as his breath gives me chills and shivers every time it hits me even though all of me is burning _so fucking hot._

We come together, Jeffrey groaning lightly into my shoulder that he bites down a bit on and only adds to the pleasure of this high crashing down on me, and I put my teeth on my forearm that rests against the whiteboard to muffle the sound of my moan. I spasm all over him, juices flooding and coating his thick and long cock completely—my inner thighs tremble—I feel flames spread throughout my entire body, starting deep in the pit of my stomach and spreading out from there—my toes and fingertips tingle, as does where his ragged breaths hit my skin as I hear his deep breathing. He gives just a few more slow and deep thrusts as his seed spills out inside of me, until he’s completely done.

Jeffrey’s mouth leaves my skin and he takes a step back as he slides himself out of me with ease. I back my body up a bit when he does, feeling relief now that the metal tray is no longer pressing into my belly, despite the fact that the slight pain from that only added to the pleasure and this moment in general. I turn my body around, still breathing in and out through my mouth, so I can look at him. Jeffrey is already opening the top left drawer of his desk and pulling out napkins and some tissues. He grabs some of both and hands them to me, which I take from him, before grabbing some himself. We clean ourselves up and throw them into the trash can under his desk, and then he closes the drawer. Jeffrey turns his body to completely face me now—as he stands before me, even in this dark room I can see the rising and falling of his tan chest with dark and slightly curly hair that trails down it—I can see his thick lips that are just barely parted—and I can see the warmth in his brown eyes as he looks down at me.

And I hope he can see the same—I hope he can see the same thing on my face, in my eyes, as I stand in front of him—I hope he can see that I’m fighting off the urge to smile so fucking hard, but I can’t help but allow my cheeks to slowly rise even as I press my lips together—I hope he can see the happiness on my face and in my dark eyes just from being here now, with him.

I hope. I hope he can. I think he does.

I think he does because he takes a step forward, and walks the few feet that’s between us till he stops in front of me and wraps his arms around my lower back. He pulls me in till my hip bones are pressed against where the top of his thighs and hips meet, and his hips are where my lower belly is because of our height difference. Jeffrey has nothing but a sweet, close-lipped smile on his face, and eyes that sparkle even though there’s no lighting in here that could do that—they do because of how he’s looking at me— _because of how he sees me._

He leaves one arm wrapped around my lower back, and he brings a hand up to the side of my face. His fingers spread apart yet again, and he presses them against my cheek, jaw, and the side of my neck—he holds me like this, as we continue to gaze at each other in this silence—as our breaths continue to intermingle in this tiny space.

“Come back to my place,” I whisper, and I can’t stop smiling at him. I don’t even think about it before I ask him this, and I don’t even after I do.

“Yeah?” he asks, raising his brows, looking happily surprised. “You sure?”

I nod my head. “Come back with me—come inside, where we won’t have to hide…” I lean my head into his hand, eyes closing halfway as I cherish his affectionate grasp. I turn my head towards his hand and press my lips into his palm, leaving him a sweet kiss there.

“Okay,” Jeffrey replies with a nod, and he’s grinning from ear-to-ear now. His pinky traces over the cupid’s bow of my upper lip, repeatedly grazing along it over and over again. The tips of his fingers press a bit more into face, on my cheekbone and jaw. “We’ll get dressed; you leave first and walk to my bike—I parked it in the usual spot. I’ll leave ten minutes later and meet you there.”

“Okay,” I respond, and I can’t help but press my lips to his palm again. I bring both my hands up and take his hand off my face; I turn it so the back of his hand is facing me, and I kiss him there now. Our eyes are locked on each other as I do, and I’m slightly smiling as my lips continue to press into his sweet yet salty skin. Jeffrey chuckles quietly as he watches me.

“You’re too fucking sweet, Calla—you really are something else,” he whispers, then bites down on his lip. And there it is—that sparkle of affection in his eyes—that sparkle _for me._ He lets out a small, shaky breath before continuing. His smile fades, but that caring look doesn’t diminish even a bit; if anything, it only grows stronger. Jeffrey slides his hand out of mine, and his hands come up to the side of my face. He pushes back the few curly locks that were sticking to the side of my face behind my ears, and a soft close-lipped smile surfaces afterwards. “What do I have to do to have some of that sweetness all to myself?”

I giggle a bit and then bite down on my bottom lip. “Nothing—you already have me; there’s no one else,” I whisper.

He’s biting down on his lip now as he tries to keep from smiling, but his smiles spreads across his face so fast he just can’t. Jeffrey is giddy as soon as he hears that from me—and I know he is, because suddenly he’s pulling me in as tight as possible into his body. Every part of us are pressed together, even when his arms leave me and his hands come up to cup the sides of my small face. He leaves kisses on every inch of my face, and I giggle quietly under his grasp as he does.

“Jeffrey!” I say in a hushed voice, and he only continues to kiss me nonstop but never on my lips.

He stops and pulls his face a bit back from my own, and that adorable white smile is still covering his entire face—his dark eyes are sparkling so bright despite the fact that there’s no light in here at all, and my heart starts to burn as I gaze into them. His hands leave my face as he smooths my hair back, but my curly hair only poofs back after he does. He brings his arms back down and wraps them around my lower back, and he’s squeezing me as close as possible against his body.

“Let’s get dressed, Calla,” Jeffrey says, motioning towards me with a small tilt of his head. I only blink my eyes, because I thought he was going to say something completely different—because I thought he was going to drop a sweet line knowing him.

But he catches me by surprise when he slams his lips against mine with all that he has—he does as he brings me into this hot and passionate kiss, unlike anything I had ever experienced before. It doesn’t even take me a second to respond, because I naturally press my lips against his right away. I take his face in my hands, the bottom of my palms where his chin and sides of his jaw meet, the ends of my fingers curling into and grasping his hair. And I feel nothing but all of us molding into and against each other so perfectly—so _...naturally._

Jeffrey breaks the kiss and lets go of me. We both step away from each other and go right away to getting dressed, but while we do there’s sweet, joking, and playful banter that bounces back and forth from each other. He finishes getting ready before I do, and once I’m done and gather up my belongings I walk to the door. My back faces him as I reach for the handle, but Jeffrey’s arms are circling around my waist before I can unlock and open the door. I laugh lightly and turn my head to the side to see him better, and he leans in so the side of his face is against my own—the feeling of his rough stubble prickling my skin makes me lick my lips as I start to smile.

“I’ll see you soon, Calla,” he whispers affectionately into my ear, and presses his lips to my cheek.

_He’s a nightcap—_

My eyes close halfway, and even though I want to do nothing but stand here in his arms like this I know that I can’t. But I know soon _—oh, so soon—_ I’ll be back in his arms again, without a single worry for once.

_—A bunch buzz—_

“I’ll see you very soon, _Jeffrey,”_ I whisper. And with that he lets go of me, steps to the side so he’s out of sight. I unlock and crack the door open just enough so I can slip out, and quietly shut it behind me before walking off.

_—And I’m a lush._

* * *

_8:40 P.M._

I stand right next to his parked motorcycle, on my phone absentmindedly scrolling through social media and checking the news as I wait for him. I keep track of the time on my phone while I do, and I notice it’s been ten minutes as I turn my head up.

It’s when I do that I see him walking towards me, just one block away—he’s one block away, but I can still make him out from this distance. He’s wearing his usual black leather jacket over his light blue button-up shirt, which is tucked into his black slacks, those black and thick-framed glasses are on, and his hands are in the front pockets of his slacks. His leather messenger bag hangs off his shoulder, bouncing lightly against the side of his upper thigh with every step he takes. And as he gets closer to where he’s a mere half-a-block away, I see his lips curl back into that large and adorable pearly white smile that I adore. I feel how much my cheeks hurt from all the smiling and happiness caused by him today as I smile back—as I become so excited myself that I’m grinning as much as possible.

Jeffrey stops in front of me, takes his messenger bag off, and puts it on to go across his body. I’ve already done the same thing with my bag before he arrived, and I just wait for him to pull out the helmets. When he does I put on my own and he does his, then he climbs on. I climb on directly after he does without waiting for his instruction to do so, and wrap my arms around his torso as I do. I press my chest completely against him—all of us are pressed as close as possible to each other as I squeeze him as tight as I can, lacing my fingers together in the middle of his stomach when I do. As I rest my chin on his shoulder, I feel his hand squeeze my joined hands affectionately. Despite it being such a small action, my cheeks burn with intensity and I bite down on my lip. His hand leaves mine, he turns on the engine, and both his hands are on the handles.

“I would say to hold on tight, but it looks like you’re already doing that, sweetheart,” Jeffrey says over the sound of the engine, and we both laugh.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” I reply back, for once not challenging him as we usually do. “Just take me home—let’s just go home, Jeffrey,” I say, much softer this time.

We take off on his bike, and just like before it’s only a short ride to my apartment considering I live a few blocks away from the law school. When we arrive I get off the bike before he does and we take off our helmets. I dig my keys out of the front pocket of my jeans as we walk up the short stoop to the door of my apartment building. I unlock the door and open it, walking inside ahead of him as he holds the door open for me from behind. It’s three flights of stairs up to my apartment, which we walk together with Jeffrey behind me still. When we reach my floor, we walk onto it and all the way down to the end where my apartment is the last one—Apartment #27. He stands behind me as I unlock both locks on the door, and then I open it. I step inside and he walks behind me, and shuts the door for me as well.

“Welcome to the tiny ass apartment that is my humble abode,” I say, spreading my arms out and making a grand gesture to the place, and Jeffrey bursts into laughter.

“It’s fucking New York City, and you’re in law school—I’d be insane if I thought you lived in a bigger place,” he says with a shake of his head. He begins to walk forward, passing me as he turns his head and looks around for himself.

It’s a tiny studio apartment, so everything is set up the best I can. The floor is dark brown hardwood, and the walls painted a light and soft creme. Starting from when you walk in the door is first the kitchen area, which is nothing but a stainless steel refrigerator; mocha brown, granite countertops with white cabinets and drawers; a stainless steel, gas oven in the middle of the counters, and a black dishwasher next to that. That runs up against the wall till it stops right next to the front door, with a small bit of the wall extending out as a divider between the kitchen and door. A bit more forward is a small, square, wooden table that’s barely big enough to seat four people, with four matching chairs seated at it. And a mere few feet away from that is a small, black sofa; a coffee table, with a blue and floral rug is underneath, is in between that and my small TV which is set up on a stand. A few feet over to that is my full size bed, with turquoise sheets and decorate pillows on it. My walls are relatively blank, with only a few art pieces here and there really. The nearest wall to my bed is where the door to my equally small and squished bathroom is, which has a tiny shower, toilet right next to that, and vanity area. The format of the apartment is pretty much one small rectangle, and the back wall is completely a reddish-brown, rustic brick with a ton of windows considering that’s where _all_ the windows are in this damn place. I have a small, rectangle, low, and white table set up beneath one of the windows; it holds a pink orchard, some small succulents, and a pot of calla lilies. Because of where my apartment is specifically in this building, I’m lucky that I get nothing but a view of the city rather than the view of any of the buildings right next door to us. And right now, the view is especially beautiful—the view of lights from other windows from the buildings glowing, the street lights, and then slightly above the buildings across the street you can see all the twinkling lights of the city.

Jeffrey walks slowly about my cramped studio apartment; it takes him much less than five minutes to see it all. I follow him about as he does, both of us in silence, till he stops behind my sofa and turns to me. I blink my eyes, waiting for him to say something—to _finally_ say something.

“Adorable and beautiful, just like you,” he remarks, and when I laugh he starts to chuckle.

“Why, thank you,” I say, giving a small bow, and he laughs a bit more. “Now I should probably be a good host and ask if you want anything to drink or eat. I was going to pour a glass of wine.”

He nods his head, and his eyes flicker away from me and towards the kitchen and tiny dining table. “Pour me whatever you’re having.”

I nod and walk to the kitchen. I open the fridge and take out a new bottle of pinot grigio. As I take the cork out and grab glasses, I notice Jeffrey settles himself down on one side of the sofa. It doesn’t take me long before I’m walking to him with both glasses in hand. I walk around the sofa and take a seat right beside him, leaving some room in between us still, and hand him his glass. Jeffrey turns his body to face me and takes his glass.

“Cheers,” he says, raising his a bit up towards me. I furrow my brow at him as I raise mine up just a bit, but our glasses don’t meet.

“To what?”

A small smile spreads across his lips at my question. “You and me. _Us.”_

I smile as well, and we bring our glasses together. “To us,” I say as they clink. We both take a sip, me taking a bit more of a generous one than him, and set our glasses on the coffee table afterwards. I turn my body to face him, one leg curled up on the sofa while the foot of my other is pressed on the floor. Both his feet are on the floor; he has one arm propped up on the back of the top of the sofa, bent at a ninety-degree angle with his elbow on the surface, while the other one is curled around the arm of the sofa. We’re both looking at each other; my lips are curled into a small, close-lipped smile. Although he’s not smiling back, the corners of his lips are still pulled slightly up, and his hazel eyes are filled with warmth and glowing.

I reach my hand towards his that’s on the top of the sofa, and my fingers graze along his leather jacket from the crook of his elbow to halfway up his bicep and back.“So Jeffrey…” I begin, looking away from him and to where my hand continues doing this pattern on his arm. “You never finished earlier—when we were talking about…” I trail off hesitantly, licking my lips after I stop talking. I look back at his face, trying to gauge his thoughts.

Jeffrey lets out a sigh, and his brow creases just for a second before relaxing. His eyes aren’t on me and are downcast. “Yeah—yeah, I remember,” he replies, and then he looks back into my eyes. “We left off at...when Katherine and I got married, right?”

I nod my head in affirmation.

He lets out a breath again, and he starts to smile as he chuckles—not his usual happy, low chuckle, but the kind he makes to suppress deeper feelings, I notice. “Well, there’s not much left to share from there.”

“That’s okay,” I say. “I still...would like to know, if that’s okay with you. Is it okay with you?” I furrow my brow, worried if I’m stepping the line.

Jeffrey smiles at me, but it’s a genuine and real one despite the intimate details he’s about to share. “Of course it’s okay, Calla!” he says with raised brows, as if shocked that I’m even asking and am hesitant in the first place. “Anything you want to know—anything, whenever, it’s _always_ okay,” he continues. His smile is gone but he has the same look from earlier before I brought it up—straight lips but they’re slightly curled up, and that warm gaze. Jeffrey’s bent arm comes down, his hand landing on and wrapping around my small upper arm. Both our arms are resting on the top of the sofa; his forearm on top of mine, gripping my upper arm and squeezing it, while I continue to run my fingertips from his elbow to halfway up his bicep.

“It’s _always_ okay with you.”

I nod my head and give him that small, close-lipped smile from earlier. “Thank you,” I reply softly. I place my hand on his bicep when he does, my tiny fingers wrapping around it as I squeeze him affectionately there.

Jeffrey sighs again and turns his head to the side, looking at our arms.

“We were really good for the first two years. It wasn’t until just after our second anniversary when we decided we wanted kids. We figured it was a good time to start, what with our incomes being higher, us both having stable jobs and financial stability, and a big apartment that could easily be big enough for a couple of kids to run around in. So, we started trying.”

I watch his face as I listen, and see his eyes glaze over as he pauses; they remain like this—distant, in another time recalling what seems to be like a completely different life—as he picks back up.

“After a year had gone by of trying nonstop—of doing all the at-home ovulation tests, what people recommend and everything—and having no results, we decided to go see a fertility doctor. So we saw him together the first time for a consultation, then each saw him on our own once to give the samples he needed for fertility testing, and once those results came back in we saw him together.”

My eyes widen as I realize where this is going—as I figure out exactly what happened and caused the decline of their marriage—or, rather,  _at least what I thought did._

“When we went over the results it...it wasn’t what we expected—nothing any couple would ever want; especially not Katherine,” Jeffrey pauses for a second and swallows before continuing. “Her fertility was completely normal, and if anything optimal and perfect for child-rearing; but it turns out I was fucking shoot blanks and fucking do.” His brows knit together, and the corners of his lips completely turn down as he continues to stare at our joined arms.

I blink my eyes, and my lips slightly part in complete shock at this. I thought—usually it’s the woman, not the man. But...but it’s...it’s him.... _it’s him._ I furrow my brow deep in thought as something else quickly follows in my mind—something I shouldn’t even be having in the back of my mind at this point because it’d be insane to think about not only with the type of relationship we have, but how long it’s been so far.

 _Kids...so he can’t...he can’t have kids,_ I think to myself. _Kids...kids were always part of the plan, though. They were always part of this fifteen-year plan of mine...What if—? Oh my god, what if…?_

I find that as my mind has wandered off like this, that I’ve been staring at our joined arms nonstop too. I blink my eyes as I break my thoughts and come back, lifting my head up and looking back to him.

He’s not looking at our arms anymore—no, he’s not. _He’s been looking at me this entire time—with those hard and glassy hazel eyes—with his lips still tugged down. He’s been watching and waiting for me to react—to say something—to say_ **_anything._ **

I feel my chest shake as I suck in a breath; my lips are in a firm and straight line; my brows are creased; and I’m doe-eyed as I look back at him.

“Jeffrey,” I say his name, and it and the sigh that follows both come out shaky. I scoot myself a bit closer to him on the sofa, till the knee of my bent leg is bumping against the lower part of his thigh—until the sides of our thighs are pressed against one another. My arm leaves his bicep and I place my hands on his thighs, squeezing him. I just want to wrap my arms around him—I just want to hold him so close, and shower him with kisses and whisper sweet and soothing nothings into his ear.

“I’m so sorry— _fuck,_ for _fucksake,_ I’m so sorry.”

I don’t know what else to say—I’m not sure if there’s anything else I can even say at the moment.

He swallows as he continues to look at me, and he’s silent for a few seconds as he stares into my eyes—but I have no idea what he’s looking for.

“He said we can try artificial insemination—see what happens with that. But that the chances of it working would be significantly lower than what it is for most people because of _me_ . Not her, _but me.”_

 _Oh my god—oh my god, Jeffrey...Jeffrey,_ is all I can think—all my mind can even respond back with.

“We did that—tried it twice, actually. We had more than enough money to between her working as an RN in a private maternity wing that your A-list celebrities always go to, and me working for Goldman Sachs, so we could easily afford it. And both times…”

“Jeffrey…” I whisper, and I squeeze his thighs again. “You don’t—you don’t have—”

“No,” he cuts me off firmly. “I need to; because I _need_ you to know—because you _deserve_ to know, Calla.”

A shaky breath leaves me as we look at each other—him with so much determination with equal parts of pain in his eyes, and me with worry and care. I nod my head, knowing that would be enough.

Jeffrey nods back after he sees me do the same, and then continues. “Both times didn’t work. And we knew after that—that after that, there’d be no other way to have _our own_ kids. But obviously…”

“Obviously it didn’t rule out adoption, right?” I speak up for him, and Jeffrey nods his head as he chuckles.

“Exactly what I was going to say, actually,” he replies as he smiles to himself. And after he does he moves his arm off the top of the sofa, puts that hand over my small ones that are on his upper thigh, and manages to squeeze them both with his hand that is twice the size of my own.

“Katherine had said so many times before, back while we were dating—while we were engaged—hell, even during the first year of our marriage—that she’d be open to adoption,” Jeffrey is shaking his head now, clearly upset by what was her change of mind. “But when the time came and we couldn’t have our own kids because of _me_ , even after talking about it and trying to persuade her left and right, and bringing up that she had been open to it before, she didn’t want to. She at one point told me, ‘If they’re not _ours_ —our own _flesh, blood, and DNA—_ I don’t want them. I want children with _you,_ Jeffrey—I want _your_ kids, not some... _stranger’s.’”_

I swallow, my throat going tight as I listen to him quote her. I start to shake my head as I hear those words; as much as I understand that, because that’s what every couple wants, _I just…_

“I gave her the option of leaving me right after that so she can find another guy and have his kids, because _she_ was the one with the dream of having kids—she had always dreamed of and planned on having children since she was one herself. Kids were something I was always indifferent and neutral to—something I didn’t really care for but was open to if it happened. I only…” Jeffrey pauses, turning his head down and looking at our hands. “I only tried as much as I did _for her_ —because _I_ was the reason why her _dream_ was over—because _I destroyed her dream.”_

I shake my head much more aggressively now. I squeeze his hand with both of mine as tight as possible, urging him to look at me—and he does look back up at me. I see his glassy and slightly watery eyes looking at me with deep sadness, and his lips are once more pulled down into a frown.

“No, you didn’t—it’s not your fault— _it’s not you, Jeffrey._ There’s nothing you could have done about it—how the hell could you? You _tried;_ you gave it _your all_ and tried so much _just for her._ It’s not you— _it’s not you, Jeffrey,”_ I say, pleading for him to listen to me—just desperately wanting him to know and hear it, even though I know that does nothing when you are and have been so deep in your head like that—when it’s something as painful as this…

“If it wasn’t for my fucking dick and balls not working, I could have given her _at least one_ kid, Calla! If it wasn’t for fucking—” Jeffrey lifts his arm that’s on the arm of the sofa up and motions to his groin with his hand, “Tell me how that fucking isn’t destroying her dream!” His voice becomes louder with this last bit, and his eyes grow more watery and a bit red even as tears start to fill them.

“Because there was still adoption—because she could have went that route if she _really_ wanted kids with _you,_ because they’d still be _yours_ even though they’re not biologically! Because she had spoken about adopting as many time as you said, but she fucking _clammed up_ when it was the last resort! Because you gave her the option _to fucking leave_ when all the streams dried up! That’s why _it’s not your fault, Jeffrey!_ That’s why _it’s not you, Jeffrey!”_

I realize when I finish that I had raised my voice at him—that I had gotten so heated that my vision was blurry with tears, and my entire body burning so insanely hot. I only swallow and shake my head at myself. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” I mutter as one of my hands lets go of his that I’m holding onto and wipe at my eyes to dry the tears. When I do, the sight of him becomes much clearer again—the sight of tears on the brims of his eyes, threatening to fall out, but looking at me with care, sadness, and concern.

Jeffrey shakes his head at me. “No—don’t be. I’m...I’m happy that you said that, actually—that you kept trying even though I’m so deep in my own fucking head…”

I let out a shaky breath when he finishes as I lean in, reaching forward with the same hand I used to wipe away my own tears towards him. I bring the side of my index finger up and wipe away the tears under his right eye, then the do the same to his left. After I do, before I can bring it back down to grab his hand, Jeffrey takes both my hands in his. He squeezes them so tight, and he just barely nods his head.

When I give him a close-lipped smile, Jeffrey gives me a genuine one in return. My heart leaps in my chest, and it’s all I need in this moment—just this one shared look with him is all I need.

“Katherine decided to stay and not leave; she wanted to stay with me for life no matter what, she said. But for the year that followed, things only got worse—we quickly turned into strangers living with each other, barely even seeing one another for even once a week by the last three months of that year rolled around. After twelve months of trying to continue like nothing, she finally realized she can’t be with me unless we can have a biological child together. And the thing is, when she rejected my offer to leave me, I knew deep down things wouldn’t work out—I knew how much that dream meant to her, and made up all of who she is. But I tried anyway, and gave her my all just as I always have, _because I loved her.”_

I nod my head slowly after he finishes. “How long has it been since then?” I ask.

“Almost seventeen years. Katherine remarried three years later; she has four kids now.”

He says it so simply—without meaning—and I can’t help but wonder how he feels about it now—how it affects him now, and if it still pulls at his heartstrings.

“Earlier...when I told you what her and I found out…” Jeffrey speaks up before I have the chance to say anything. He pauses to lick his lips, as if he’s unsure of what he’s about to say—or maybe because he’s questioning if he should even say it at all. “You hesitated...your mind went elsewhere there for a moment after I said it. And I just _need_ to ask, Calla…”

I instantly shake my head and cut him off right there and then, giving him his answer. “No, it’s not an issue for me. I never knew if I actually even wanted kids to begin with; I’m not exactly the best with infants, as well as when they’re from the age of five to sixteen,” I laugh a bit at myself. “I’ve never really had the chance to think about whether I even want them or not; it was just something that never really crossed my mind, to be quite honest. It was part of ‘the plan,’ like it is for everyone else, but I never even really thought about it.”

I squeeze his hands when I finish, and his lips form a small smile. “And now?” he inquires further and much more confidently; those light brown and leafy green, hazel eyes flicker back and forth as he stares into my eyes and face; his brows are knitted with concern. “Now that you’re thinking about it, do you want kids? Are you okay without not being able to have any that actually come from you,” Jeffrey pauses and I can see he’s questioning why the hell he’s bringing up kids this early on with where we’re at, _“...with me?”_

I nod my head, and I smile at him—I do because I mean it, and I mean everything that I say as I do. “I’m okay with that; it’s not my everything—it’s not a dream for me. It means a home can be given to children who need it—who come from an environment similar to the one I grew up in. And I like that a lot.”

His hands squeeze mine now at the end of my answer, and he’s giving me a full-teeth smile—the kind that I adore and wish I could see in person whenever I’m alone and just wanting to be with him.

“And I...I need to ask you something else now,” I add.

His smile doesn’t shrink at all; he nods quickly in affirmation. “You know the deal—anything and everything, whenever.”

“Do you still love her?”

His smile leaves but his eyes stay on me for the moment of silence that comes between us—despite the sound of the usual city traffic, all I can hear is his soft and soothing, yet heavy breathing that leaves him.

“Yes. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t,” Jeffrey tells me. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think if it wasn’t for that, Katherine and I would still be together and have a family of our own—that it would be a whole, full, and loving family with her. What Katherine and I had…” His lips twist in thought as he pauses for a few seconds, “it was something special, and so natural—something that just never leaves you, and those feelings always linger. But Calla…” Jeffrey squeezes my hands again, and now he brings them up to his lips. His breath hits the skin that covers them as he continues, “It took me a long, long and dry decade to get over what Katherine and I had—to move on, and fully be ready for something else that could be like what I had with her, but so much more. And this—with you…” He presses his lips to the back of one hand, and then to the back of the other, his eyes closing as he does.

“Jeffrey,” I squeak up, and his eyes open to look back at me. “Have you done this before—I mean, have you been with a student of yours before now…?”

He brings our joined hands down from his face and places them back on his thigh. “No. Hell, never even thought for a single second of being with any student even in a nothing but fucking way, let alone in a romantic sense...Not until you, Calla.”

I laugh lightly, my face growing warm for some strange and unknown reason to me at the sound of this. I smile as I bite down on my lip.

“And you?”

I lift my brows and my smile is replaced with parted lips. “Me—with a professor? Never!” I say as I shake my head. “God, no. I’ve always been a strict, by-the-book kind of woman. I never even thought about it until you, too.”

Jeffrey smiles at the sound of this, and he lets go of my hands. His arms circle around my waist and lower back, and he pulls me into his chest and on his lap. I curl up, my back pressed against the arm of the sofa, my legs coming up on the sofa and extending out across it. His arms hang loosely around my torso from the side, both his hands overlapping each other as he places them on my right hip. Jeffrey turns his face towards me, and presses his lips to my left temple.

 _“Exactly,”_ he says matter-of-factly. “And that’s what I mean—you and I— _us,”_ Jeffrey kisses my cheek now.

I nod slowly, the feeling of his stubble pleasantly rubbing against my skin as I do. My eyes close and I lean against his chest. “I know exactly what you’re saying,” I say in a whisper. I can feel Jeffrey smile against my skin with how part of his cheek is pressed against my cheekbone, and I smile too at the sensation.

_My head, my heart, my throat, my lungs, my stomach, all in a knot._

There’s nothing else to say—nothing else to add in this moment. We remain in complete and utter silence in this moment, enjoying each other’s company—each other’s warmth, and utter and complete affection. I feel as his chest rises and falls against the left side of my torso with every breath he takes—I hear and feel his deep, throaty, and ragged breathing in my ear and on my skin—and I feel his arms tighten around me ever-so-slightly.

_He might be messin’ in New York—_

“Feel free to kick me out whenever you want,” Jeffrey finally breaks the silence as he says this lowly, and I only laugh in return. My eyes open and I turn my head to look at him with a confused expression.

_—He might be messin’ with my head—_

“Kick _you_ out?” I roll my eyes teasingly and he smiles at me. “I was going to say, you’re more than welcome to spend the night, leave whenever you want in the morning…”

His smile grows wider and he slightly tilts his chin up at me cockily. “Yeah? _Me,_ huh?”

I lick my lips as my smile grows in size. “Mhm, you heard right.”

Jeffrey suddenly squeezes me as tight and hard as possible into his body, and I giggle with joy as he does. He kisses my temple and then my cheek, smiling against my skin as he does. “I’ll spend the night then, Calla. I’ll spend the night.”

_—But I’ll do anything to keep him messin’ in my bed._

I close my eyes wiggle my body happily further into his, filled with nothing but content and utter happiness in this moment. Silence comes over us again, until a rather important thought comes back to my mind, causing me to begin to pull away so I can look at him. As I do, and as I bring myself off his lap and back to where I was originally sitting on the sofa beside him, Jeffrey’s arms slowly slip off mine as he looks at me with confusion.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say as I move away from his body. I sit back down how I was before—my body turned completely to him, one leg folded up on the sofa with our thighs pressed to each other, and the foot of my other on the floor.

“Hmm?” Jeffrey questions, brows knitted with curiosity as he motions towards me with an upward movement of his chin. “What is it?”

“Jake Fischer, in our class,” I start, waiting to see if he recognizes the name.

Jeffrey’s eyes leave mine momentarily, glancing up for a second, before they look back into mine as he nods. “Yeah, Mr. Fischer. You two are friends, right?”

I nod my head, too. “Yeah, we are—best friends and study partners for the past two years, actually.”

“What about him?” Jeffrey asks further.

I sigh and look down at our touching legs, trying to figure out how to say this—trying to figure out how to tell him. Because I’m not sure if he’ll be upset with me, or...well, fuck, I have no idea how he’s going to react when I tell him.

“Jake came over on Saturday as he usually does. He told me—” I swallow, and my throat is so tight I barely can. I look back into his eyes before I say it. “He told me he knows about us fucking.” The news comes out just as quickly as I made Jake cut to the chase with me, and it’s the way I’d rather deliver it to him to get it done and over with.

I see all affection fade and leave his face—I see his lips straight line, and his eyes stare firmly and deep into my own. And as the seconds of growing silence pass, I steadily see the corners of his lips tugging further and further down, just as he presses his lips more into each other. And then I see a spark in his eyes that I notice have become dark—I see the spark in them which ignites the response that follows.

Jeffrey’s lips curl up into a snarl as he opens his mouth to finally speak. “He fucking _knows,_ Calla?! You’re telling me, another student, who is your _best fucking friend_ and study partner, _knows?!”_

His voice becomes just a bit louder than where it was previously at when he says this. Jeffrey quickly turns his head away from me, as if he’s filled with so much anger he can’t manage to keep looking at me in any way. He rises to his feet and grabs his glass of wine, brings it to his lips, and takes a rather large gulp before roughly setting it down on the coffee table.

“I know—I know how it sou—”

“No, you fucking _don’t!”_ Jeffrey abruptly cuts me off, his voice growing a bit louder in volume again. “You fucking _think_ you do, but you don’t! You’re not the _fucking_ _professor_ in this—you’re the _goddamn student!_ Your entire _career_ and job prospects for pretty much _anything_ won’t be _destroyed_ by this, because it’ll automatically be viewed as _predatory_ even though it’s _as consensual as it gets!_ My life will be fucking _ruined_ if he says _a single word!”_

My brows are complete knitted together, and my lips curl into a snarl just as his did earlier. I rise up instantly to my feet and step forward, standing in front of him with our toes pressed together. My head is completely raised up as I glare him down, and he at me. My _fucking ass_ if he thinks he’ll get off with going off on me like this without getting his own ass _destroyed!_

“At least give me _the goddamn fucking chance_ to _explain_ what happened before blowing up on me, huh?!” I snap, my voice louder than his was just now. “And you’re not the only one whose in jeopardy if he says something _—my ass_ is _just as much_ on the line as _yours_ fucking is! Because I won’t be able to take the Bar—I won’t even be able to graduate, let alone attend any other fucking type of grad school in this country! My chance for job prospects will be _just as destroyed_ as yours! You and I _both_ have _just as much_ on the line, no one with any more or less! So you better _sit the fuck down,_ stop _yelling_ at me, and goddamn _listen,_ because I’m not going to have _this_ turn into what my fucking _parents_ were! _Got it?!”_

When I finish going off on him—when I finish without so much as taking a break to even catch my breath—I find that my entire body is trembling from head to toe with nothing but pure anger. Even the tip of my index finger that’s pointing at the sofa for him to sit down in is trembling as I stare him down, both of us waiting for the other to give in. After a few seconds of staring Jeffrey finally turns his head away from me and takes a seat. I bring my arms down to my side as I turn and sit down on the sofa, and both of us are turned towards each other just like before.

“So will you please listen to me?” I ask, but my voice is much lower and sweeter. I’m not pleading—not begging—not even saying it with any ounce of anger.

Jeffrey sighs and nods his head slowly, and looks into my eyes after he does. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I should have remembered. Fuck, I shouldn’t have even in the first place…” He shakes his head.

I let out a breath, too, and I grab his hands with mine. I squeeze them, just as he did earlier with me. “It’s okay; it’s okay, Jeffrey,” I say soothingly.

He looks at me as if he believes he’s not worth my forgiveness after going off on me like that—just simply the look on his face deep in his eyes tells me he means it, and regrets doing what he did far more than he can express in words. And that’s enough for me, at least this time around.

Jeffrey clears his throat before speaking. “So what happened exactly?” he asks.

“Apparently he could _just slightly_ hear us laughing, talking, hushing each other, and the sounds we were making while having sex from outside the classroom. He said he was walking by when he heard giggles, and even though he couldn’t see anything he recognized the sounds of our voices. He said…” I press my lips together and keep my hard and firm gaze locked on him. “He said he won’t say anything; just told me to be careful, that there’s still the risk of anyone else finding out who would be more than happy to report this, and,” I let go of his hands and say this next part using air quotes, “‘Don’t fuck in the classroom of all places! At least you got the whole fucking-my-professor-in-the-classroom fantasy out of your system now.’”

When Jeffrey bursts into laughter, running his hands over his beard and face as he does at Jake’s comment, I also laugh. He groans as his palms leave his cheeks, wide eyes blinking as he sighs when his laughter comes to an end. “Ohhhh, Jake...Mr. Fischer…” Jeffrey is still smiling as he shakes his head.

I suck in a short breath and let it out. “He said I can trust him—that he won’t tell a single person. I made him give me his word, too.”

Jeffrey licks his lips and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks at me with deep, serious eyes. “And can we trust Mr. Fischer?” he asks, motioning towards me with his chin.

I slowly nod my head, and reply back without hesitation. “Yes. I’m confident that we can.” I’m looking back into his eyes with my own serious and firm ones when I say this.

Jeffrey sighs and nods his head. “Well, looks like we will be—it’s not like we have any other choice. Blackmailing the kid would only make things worse if he does say something anyway,” he chuckles lightly to himself.

“Ya think?” I ask sarcastically, eyebrows raised as I do.

Jeffrey only grins at my response. “Ohhhh, Calla,” He shakes his head at me as he extends his arms out. He pulls me right into his grasp, and I find myself crawling back into his lap. Unlike last time, my chest is pressed against his, with my legs dangling off the side of the sofa. Mine wrap around his neck while his squeeze me tight into his body around my waist. “Just what am I going to do with you?” he whispers in my ear before kissing my temple.

“Chug your wine with me like you’re eighteen-years-old and away from home for the first time, then take each others clothes off, be the one to shut the lights off as I climb into bed, then cuddle with me,” I answer so simply, and Jeffrey bursts into laughter.

“Oh, sweetheart...you _know_ you’ve got a strong hold on my heart already, don’t you?”

“Mhm,” I say with a small giggle. “And you know you do on me—I _know_ you do.”

Jeffrey pulls his head back and looks at me, and we both find that we’re smirking at each other. We end up laughing a second after seeing this, and he squeezes me tighter against him momentarily before sliding his arms off me. I bring mine away from his neck and stand up. I raise my arms above my head to stretch them out as Jeffrey rises up from the sofa as well. I grab both glasses of wine and hand him his, and we turn to each other.

“To _this—_ our dirty little secret. _To us,”_ I raise my glass up, and we smile as our meet. We both chug at our wine, turning it into a contest like we’re at a frat party. I beat him just shy of two seconds, slamming my wine glass down on my coffee table and raising my arms up in the air in triumph as he follows behind me by those two seconds.

“And we have a winnnneerrr!!!” Jeffrey says loudly, grabbing my forearms and shaking them. “And the crowd goes wild for Calla Villanueva!!!” He imitates the sound of a typical cheering crowd as he shakes my arms, and I pump my fists up in the air as he does.

I’m filled with with giggles as he lets go of me and I wrap my arms around his neck. I start to walk him backwards to the bed, biting down on my lip as I look up into his eyes.

Jeffrey places his hands on my hips and turns us so I’m the one he’s walking backwards now, smiling deviously at me when he does. I only shake my head at him as I lick my lips—always taking the lead...not that I mind anyway.

_Hands slip slowly, make a spark under the moon._

He stops us at the foot of my bed and we instantly reach out and start to strip each other. It’s hardly sexual in any way, but completely caring and sweet. We toss one another’s clothes towards the sofa, a few pieces making it while most land on the floor right beside it. He’s down to just his briefs, and myself to my bra and thong, when we’re done. I walk down the left side of my bed and take off the decorative pillows, throwing them to the floor. I fold the sheets back and climb into bed; all the while Jeffrey walks to the front of the apartment where the light switch is for the main light, which is the only one we’ve had turned on this entire time. He shuts it off; I can hear him slowly make his way through the dark back to my bed as I settle in.

_The stars stay glowing, ablaze beyond the bloom._

I know he’s made it here safely without bumping into anything when I feel his hands on my feet as they touch the end of the bed to help him maneuver around. Jeffrey walks around the right side to the top of the bed, unfolds the sheets, and sits down. He swings his legs up and under the sheets, then pulls them over. I’m welcomed with the feeling of his arms circling around my waist from behind, the entire front of his body pressed to my back, and hairy legs against my smooth ones.

_The hours slowly when it’s only me and you._

I turn myself in his arms to face him, and he tightens his arms around me once I do. I place a hand on one side of his face, and the other on the top of his chest, as we gaze into each other’s eyes. The city lights coming in through my windows make it just bright enough to where I can see his eyes sparkling while looking into mine.

_Spilling secrets, can we keep this to ourselves?_

“Goodnight, moonlight,” Jeffrey whispers, and presses his lips to my forehead. He leaves them there as our eyes shut, and I hold onto this moment.

_Little whispers, sudden shivers._

“Moonlight?” I ask in a quiet whisper, and I open my eyes again. His lips leave my skin and we’re looking back at each other.

_And for a moment nothing else._

“The constant and only source of light even in the darkest of times—that’s what you are, Calla.”

_Moonlight—_

I snuggle up closer to him, and give him a sweet and chaste kiss. “Sweet dreams, Jeffrey.”

_You’re my moonlight._


	11. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll! Sorry for the delayed update. I know I typically only update this chapter once a month usually, but this time it took a bit longer because of the last 2-3 intense and crazy weeks of finals. I just got back to SoCal from visiting home in Sacramento for the last few days, where I got to relax while enjoying spending time with my family and my best friend for life (we've been best friends for the last 8.5 years now, since freshman year of high school). 
> 
> But here the chapter is, today as I promised before on Tumblr! This is the longest chapter I've ever written so far, not only for "Inside" but in general out of the 3 years I've been writing fanfiction for out of the several fanfics I have (most of which aren't published on my new AO3 account, which is this one).
> 
> Please enjoy the 33 single-spaced pages & 19,797 words that this chapter is! :D I also hope you enjoy the ~moodboard~ I made to go along with the chapter! I'm probably going to start making these and including them in the chapter for most future chapters to come.
> 
> P.S. It may be a month or month and a half before the next chapter is posted. I have 3 fics to work on between posting this chapter and starting to write the next chapter of "Inside," two of which I need to get done by the end of this week and another is a birthday gift I promised a while back and now I'm finally having the chance to write it. But, as usual, the next chapter is gonna be long and detailed af (like the same length as this chapter probably), so I promise it'll be worth it! :D

 

** **

**Spring Semester, Week 6  
** _5 A.M., Tuesday_  
_Calla Villanueva’s Apartment  
Brooklyn, NYC, New York_

Eyes flutter open to the view of her white apartment walls painted gold, orange, and pink. He groans, and his eyes remain half-shut as they adjust to this mix of darkness with the light from the sunrise spilling in through her windows. Jeffrey is lying on his right side, facing the wall where the bathroom door is. He blinks his eyes a bit more open and leans over onto Calla’s side of the bed when he notices light from the bathroom spilling out from the space between the door and hardwood floor. As he does, he sees the light turn off, followed by the door slightly opening.

Calla opens it slowly, squeezing her body in through the tiny bit she has open so far. Her eyes are downcast, making sure she doesn’t bump into the door or doorframe so she can be as quiet as possible, not wanting to interrupt his sleep. He watches her curiously, raising a brow as he does—what the hell is she doing up this early?

Her eyes finally flicker up as she takes a step forward, leaving that space in between the door and doorframe, and now standing by her bedside. When she does, and she finds Jeffrey looking at her, her eyes widen. Calla bites down on her bottom lip while Jeffrey presses his lips together, trying to keep from smiling, as he starts to shake his head against the pillow.

“Where are you trying to sneak off to?” he croaks, voice much deeper than usual and slightly cracking.

She turns her head down, looking at the clothes she has on—black, spandex, crop leggings with a strip of see-through mesh around her lower thighs above her knees; ankle socks; and a half-zip, black hoodie. Calla motions towards her attire with her hands, lifting her head up as she does, and flashes him a smile.

“Where do _you_ think?” she teases. “Because I’m totally going to do the ‘walk of shame’ out of my own apartment,” Calla shakes her head, laughing.

Jeffrey watches as her small, button nose cutely scrunches up as she giggles, and his face grows warm. He even sees her tight curls that are pulled back in a ponytail bouncing with the shake of her head, and he finds himself getting lost in her—finds himself looking at her in this new light, as he laughs along with her.

“Oh, c’mon,” he groans as he smiles at her. Jeffrey spreads his arms wide apart, and motions to her by tilting his chin up a few times. “Why go...wherever you are...when you can come back to bed _with me?”_

Calla sighs and turns away, taking a few steps forward till she’s standing with her stomach and legs pressed against her side of the bed. “First off, I’m going on my usual morning run,” she begins as she walks over. She then presses her hands down against the mattress on the end, and leans in. “Second, you have no idea how much I want to, but I also really want to go on my run. And third…” She twists her lips in thought before continuing, “Well, shit, there is no third,” Calla sighs.

Jeffrey laughs at her last statement as well, and then that turns into a long sigh as he moves closer to the edge of the bed on her side. “Oohhhh…” he drawls out, his arms still extended out and coming closer to her as his body does. _“Callaaaa…”_ Jeffrey says her name slowly as his arms circle around her waist, and she tosses her head back as she smiles. And completely much to her surprise, he pulls her into bed all at once, turning from being on his right side and onto his back as he does, and her body collapses against him on his stomach. “You’re not going _anywhere,”_ Jeffrey comments as he squeezes his arms as tight as possible around her, trapping her against his body, chuckling lightly all the while.

As Jeffrey manages to pull her into bed, Calla gasps in surprise as he does. She lies on top of his body on her stomach, her head turned to the right with her cheek pressed against his chest as she does. “Jeffrey!” Calla says as he squeezes his arms so impossibly tight around her, hearing him groan as he does. “I can’t—move!”

He chuckles in response, his chest shakingly rising up before coming back down, her body moving along his in the same motion. “Sweetheart, _that’s the fucking point.”_

She lets out a breath and her body relaxes against him, and after he feels her do so his arms loosen their grip slightly. Calla moves up a bit more, till she rests her chin on the top of his chest and gazes into his eyes. Jeffrey sits up a bit so he can look at her, and as their eyes meet they both smile softly at one another.

And when their eyes meet, both their lips start to pull back into close-mouthed smiles—four brown eyes radiating nothing but warmth at each other.

“Do you want to come over tonight?” Calla asks in a sweet, low voice, finally breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between them.

Jeffrey flashes his pearly white teeth as his lips curl further back into a smile. “Are you asking me out on a date?” he asks, slightly tilting his chin up towards her.

“Yeah, looks like I am,” Calla replies, biting down on her bottom lip afterwards.

His chest slightly rumbles underneath her as he softly groans. His arms that are wrapped around her body leave her, only to place his hands on her upper arms. He starts to run them up and down the length of her sleeve-covered arms, as his eyes continue to look at her.

“Well, it’s a _yes,_ then,” he smoothly replies. Calla’s smile only widens more at this.

“You realize this is our first date, right?”

She glances away from him momentarily in thought. “Well, no...wait,” Calla’s eyes meet his finally, and she raises a brow in question. “Yes and no? It is, but then it isn’t?”

Jeffrey laughs, and she joins in as she laughs at the answer she gave him too. “Calla, I don’t think fucking in my office and the classroom necessarily counts as dates.”

Calla’s laughter only picks up more at this comment, and Jeffrey merely cracks a cocky smile at his words and her reaction to them.

“And those three times we grabbed coffee don’t either, considering it happened before…”

It grows quiet between them, and their eyes meet once more. Both of their smiles fall as they look into each other’s eyes, and that same shared look of warmth from earlier appears between them.

“...tonight,” Calla finishes for him in a whisper.

 _“Mhmmmm,”_ he replies, his chest rumbling against her body pleasantly.

Calla wiggles her body up his to get closer to him, and once her head reaches the very top of his chest, she press her lips to his skin there.

“Looks like it’s a date, then—our first one,” she replies, eyes glancing up to him.

Jeffrey smiles and leans in a bit, pressing his lips to her forehead. “What time should I come over by?”

Calla rests her chin on his chest; her eyes flicker away from his as she twists her lips in thought. “Well, I don’t have class on Tuesday; I just have work from twelve to five. How about you?” Her eyes meet his now.

Jeffrey flashes her a smile before replying back. “Well, looks like we’ll have most of the morning to ourselves, then, since I don’t have my one and only class today ‘til one-thirty. That’s until four, and afterwards I have office hours from then until five.”

Calla starts to grin excitedly from ear-to-ear as she listens to him say all of this. “Come over at six, then; so you have time to go back to your place and grab whatever you need so you can spend the night again…”

As Calla says this, she’s very loosely and gently twirling a few strands of his chest hair around her right pinky. Her eyes flicker down as she looks away from him timidly, her round yet sharp cheeks growing pink.

“I’ve been that good of a guest, then—is that it?” Jeffrey says with a cocky grin.

She giggles, her head collapsing to his chest, pressing her right cheek against him. She shifts her weight to her right side briefly as she does, before turning her body so she’s once more completely on her stomach. Calla brings her head back up to look at him—she’s smiling so much in this moment and can’t stop—she can’t stop at all.

And he can see all that happiness radiating off every bit of her—from her smile that is so wide and large that her lips are curled up and exposing some of her pink gums—from the very subtle dimple on her left cheek being pronounced—and to how the gold flecks around her pupils sparkle in her milk chocolate brown eyes.

“I guess you could say that...it’s nice to have company for a change, _especially yours.”_

Jeffrey wraps his arms back around her as he hears this, but he runs his hands down her backside till they come underneath her bottom. He wraps them around the very top of her hamstrings and pulls her up closer to him. Their foreheads and the tips of their noses are a mere inch from touching as he gazes into her eyes, with slightly parted lips.

And it’s in this moment, too, that she can see what he’s seeing in her—that same amount of happiness in the depths of his hazel eyes—in the way the ends of his lips are slightly curled up as he looks at her as if he’s looking at her for the first time ever _—completely wrapped up in each other._

Calla cups both his cheeks in her hands, her thumbs slightly tracing along the edge of his jaw, stubble prickling her soft skin. His hands run up her body, along the curve of her bottom and up her middle back, till one arm wraps around her middle back. His right hand, though, continues to run up her body till he reaches her shoulders, and he brings it in between them. He places that hand on the right side of her face, the palm of his hand overlapping the bottom half of her cheek and the top part of her neck, his thumb pressed to the side of her neck and his fingers covering her cheek. His eyes leave hers, looking to where his hand lays on her face. Jeffrey curls his hand up as he absentmindedly runs the tips of his fingers all around her cheek, to her jaw, and along her neck to her sharp collarbone, tracing constellations with the freckles on her skin.

_Connect the dots upon my neck._

“Good. Because I don’t want to be anywhere else right now,” he finally replies in a soft whisper, despite how rough and deep his voice is. Jeffrey runs his tongue between his lips before pressing them together afterwards, his eyes landing back on hers.

Calla glances down at his lips, biting down on her own, before looking up and meeting his eyes. Her teeth slide off her bottom lip, her lips slightly parting as she blinks her eyes. It’s in that moment, as he sees how beautiful and even adorable she is—how hopeful and optimistic she looks—that the inch between them disappears, their lips meeting. Jeffrey presses his to hers as he cups her cheek with his right hand, with his fingers spread across her neck. Her arms circle loosely around his neck—one hand comes on the back of his head, gently holding onto him, her fingers spreading out and embedding themselves in his messy locks of hair. Calla’s other hand presses to the back of his neck, running along his neck till she reaches where his neck and jaw connect on the left side of his face, spreading her fingers apart there as she holds onto him. It’s nothing but a slow and sensual kiss—not particularly innocent, but one filled with nothing but care and warmth.

She pulls her lips away from him, knowing she needs to end the kiss now if she wants to be able to go on her run still, because otherwise things would definitely go much farther…

Calla places her hands on his chest as she sits up, pressing her lips together as her eyes glance away from him. She clears her throat before saying, “I _really_ should be going on my run now.”

Jeffrey chuckles, pressing the back of his head further against the pillow as he does. His hand leaves her face as she starts to sit up, joining his other hand that’s on the middle of her back, arms very loosely around her. “Aaaaah...at this point, should you _really_ go on that run? It’s five-thirty—you’re a half-hour late. Might as well just stay here in bed, _with me.”_ He says the last two words of that statement slowly, even enunciating much more than he usually does, his tongue running along his bottom lip afterwards as his mouth curls into a left-slanted smirk.

“I’m only late because of _you,”_ Calla challenges back with a smirk of her own and narrowed eyes. She chuckles lightly as she shakes her head, climbing off him and the bed, setting her bare feet on the floor. Her hands are on his left thigh for support as one foot reaches the floor, and as her other leg moves over him and the bed so she can set that foot down as well.

Jeffrey sighs, grabbing her hands that are on his thighs as Calla completely stands up. He turns on his side to face her and squeezes her hands, holding them against his chest. _“Fine,”_ he replies, jokingly rolling his eyes. When he sees her roll her eyes back and scoff slightly, each done jokingly as well, Jeffrey smiles at her and only earns a smile from her in return. “But only because I’ll be having you all to myself this morning anyway.”

“Mhm,” Calla nods her head and playfully wiggles her brows. “You got that right,” she continues as she leans in, giving him a soft and short kiss on the lips. She then pulls her hands from his and turns away, walking to where her drawers are on the other side of her studio apartment. She opens the top drawer and takes out a pair of socks, closes it, and quickly puts them on. She then walks to where her shoes are near the kitchen, and drops to her knees to tie them on.

Meanwhile, Jeffrey sits up completely in her bed, watching her as she does this all with a small, happy smile, and the usual pep in her step that she always has.

“How many miles do you run every morning?”

“Five or six—depends on how I’m feeling. I’ll usually do seven or eight on Sunday mornings to push myself a bit more.”

“I don’t know _how_ you do it, let alone wake up fucking early _as hell._ But if it makes you happy, which it obviously does…”

Calla finishes double-knotting her left shoe, and moves on to tighten and then tie the shoelaces of her right shoe. As she does, concentrating on that and what he’s saying, she can’t hear Jeffrey quietly pushing the sheets off himself, getting out of bed, and standing up. She can’t hear him either as he very slowly walks across her tiny apartment to where she’s tying her shoes at close to the entry.

She laughs lightly at his first sentence, shaking her head. “It’s not for everyone, I guess. But it does make me happy...a lot, actually. This has been my life since I was twelve; I can’t imagine it any other way.”

Calla finishes double-knotting her right shoe now, and stands up. She dusts off her leggings around her thighs and knees briefly with her hands before standing completely straight. And just as her body just barely, _barely_ begins to turn so she can face where she thinks he still is in bed, Jeffrey’s arms come swooping around her from behind. He pulls her in close to him, arms wrapped around her so tight that his hands on the side of her waist, squeezing her so much against him that he groans into her ear. And the sound of that small groan, accompanied by the sound and feeling of his low, deep, and hot breathing rushing over her skin without warning, causes a shiver to run up her entire body. Then she’s throwing her head back in laughter, letting it rest against the top part of his chest and right shoulder. Jeffrey buries his face into the nape of her neck on her left side, the tip of his nose brushing against her as he does. She knows he’s smiling because not only can she feel his completely raised cheeks and curled up lips against her skin, but she can hear it in his breathing that just barely skips a bit as he chuckles lightly into her.

“Just this one morning—I’ll let you go tomorrow morning without trying to stop or get you off schedule _at all._ How about you reconsider it, Calla?” he whispers lowly right into her ear, and a much stronger shiver runs up her spine right when he starts—as that sudden rush of hot air from his breath comes over her entire neck, ear, and along her jaw. Her lips pucker and press together, while her eyes close, from all the pleasurable sensation.

Her arm stretches behind her and she rests her hand on the back of his neck, her fingers curling around his skin there. Calla starts to shake her head as she turns her head towards his, and her lips are curled into a close-lipped smile. _“Mmm..._ as wonderful as that sounds, it’s still a no,” she replies in a soft whisper. And in return, she can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up against her hand after a shiver of his own runs through his body. She opens her eyes and her arm slides off his body as she turns in his grasp to face him. Once she does, she presses her lips against his bare chest firmly, and looks up at him. “It’ll only be _one hour _—__ you’ve waited _much longer_ than that before; I’m sure you’ll be _just fine,”_ Calla smirks.

Jeffrey sighs and lets go of her, taking a step back. _“Fine—_ you have a point,” he admits, lips pressed together as he tries to keep from smiling.

 _“Exactly,”_ Calla replies cockily and with a grin. “Go ahead and make yourself some coffee or tea, and breakfast if you want—my home is yours.” She turns away and walks to the front door, opening it. She turns her head to look back at him once more, still smiling. “I’ll see you soon, Jeffrey.”

He’s smiling back at her now, and his arms are crossed over his chest. He motions towards her by tilting his chin up. “Go on that run of yours already!” he teases.

* * *

_6:30 A.M._

The door opens, and Calla steps back inside her apartment. As she does so, lightly breathing through her mouth and nose while catching her breath, she’s welcomed with the smell of food cooking and coffee brewing in her kitchen. She creases her brow as she shuts the door, curious and slightly confused as to what’s going on, and takes her running shoes off and places them by the door. Calla walks the few steps it takes to get from the door to the kitchen, where she finds Jeffrey’s back turned towards her as he stands at her white electric stove. He has a black spatula in his hand, while the other is clearly gripping the handle of a pan, and his head is turned down as he shifts the cooking eggs. He’s still in his plaid, blue boxers and is shirtless, which gives her full view of the muscles of his upper back moving as he cooks.

“How was your run?” Jeffrey says somewhat loudly, clearly not realizing that she’s just a few feet behind him where the entrance to the kitchen is.

“What are you...doing?” Calla asks slowly, as she takes two steps into the kitchen. Her eyes are on the stove as she moves closer to the counters, trying to get a good look at what he’s cooking.

Jeffrey turns his head back, blinking his eyes as he sees Calla’s body pressed to the counter and cabinets a few feet away from him, with her eyes glued to the stove. “You tell me,” he says as he takes a step back, allowing her to fully view what’s in the pan now.

Calla steps forward closer to the stove and him, seeing the yellow food in the pan. “Scrambled eggs—really?” she asks, lifting her head up to look at him.

He flashes her a smile as he steps back to be right in the front of the stove, turning his head down to keep cooking. “You told me to make myself at home and make breakfast, didn’t you?”

She presses her lips together, trying to fight back her smile. It’s as she does and she doesn’t reply back that Jeffrey turns his head to look at her once more, his smile growing amusedly at the reaction on her face. Her eyes flicker up to his as he does and she narrows them before sighing. “Yeah,” Calla finally admits. “But I didn’t...I didn’t mean you had to make the whole spread…” She takes another step closer to him, to where she’s now standing right beside him.

“Well, I did,” he says, head still turned down as he finishes up the eggs, “I figured I’d treat you to a little something after you come back from your run.”

She bites down on her bottom lip as her cheeks grow warm, before coming behind him and wrapping her arms around his torso, pressing her cheek to his back. “I hope you don’t mind a stinky and sweaty hug as my thank you,” Calla replies.

Jeffrey chuckles as he shakes his head, and rests the spatula very briefly on the pan. He reaches down and squeezes her hands that are in the center of his belly, then lifts one to his lips where he presses a kiss to the back of it. “Not if it’s coming from you, Calla.” She can feel him smiling against the back of her hand, making her smile as well. He places her hand back on his stomach with the other one, and turns his attention back to the eggs.

Calla lets go of him after he does so, stepping back to give him room to cook. “What can I do to help?”

Jeffrey turns off the stove and lifts the pan off it, turning to the left where a large plate is, emptying all the eggs into it. “Just pour us some coffee and set it at the table; you don’t have to do anything else. This is _my_ treat to _you,_ remember?”

“I can’t help but want to help out,” Calla replies as she walks to the coffee maker, where a fresh, full, and hot pot of coffee waits for them. Jeffrey walks across the kitchen to the sink after she does, where he places the pan and fills it up with water. As she pours coffee into two mugs, leaving just enough room for them to add a bit of creamer and sugar, he walks back to where the plate of eggs are.

“I know,” he replies as he does, grabbing the plate with both his hands, “and that’s one of the things I like about you.” He turns around with the plate in his hands, ready to walk through the kitchen to where her small dining table is, when he looks to where Calla stands on the other side of the kitchen facing him with both mugs in her hands. She gives him a soft and affectionate, close-lipped smile in return.

“Thank you,” she replies, and he gives her the same smile in return. He then walks across the kitchen and to the dining table, Calla following behind him. He sets the plate in the center of the small, square and wooden table when he reaches it, and Calla sets the mugs down where both the placemats are set. They both sit down in their seats, facing across from each other, the table already completely set up.

* * *

_7:20 A.M._

We both clean up the table after we finish eating, placing the dirty dishes in the sink to clean up later. We then navigate into her bathroom together, after agreeing earlier during breakfast that we could both use a shower and to take one together. She turns on the water and showerhead of her standard bathtub-shower. As she does, I turn on the light and fan and then shut the door. Calla and I meet in the center of her bathroom, facing each other, both of us smiling. I reach my hands out to her, grabbing the hem of her half-zip hoodie, then pause. I glance into her eyes as my fingers press into the soft, cotton material.

“May I?” I ask in a low voice.

“Please,” she replies in her soft and quiet voice in return, cheeks pink and rising up as her lips curl into a closed-lipped smile.

I pull her hoodie up and over her head, tossing it to the back corner of her bathroom behind us. I take off the short-sleeve shirt she has underneath afterwards, followed by her sports bra. She stands in front of me, just in her spandex leggings, her chest and torso exposed for me. Her petite chest, with her small breasts, rises and falls slowly as she breathes, and I lick my lips as I momentarily admire the sight—well, at least I do, until Calla grabs my face with her hands and suddenly pulls me in. I blink and my eyes widen as I step closer to her as she brings me in, but my eyes relax as the rest of me does under her touch, and I slip my arms around her lower back. My head is pulled into the crook of her neck, my cheek pressed to hers and the side of her neck as I smile, chuckling lightly into her skin that I press my lips to in a feathery kiss. And as I do, I feel her round cheek rising against my face as she grins from ear-to-ear—as her fingers bury themselves in my hair.

 _“Mmmmm,”_ I hum into her neck as I place another kiss on her skin, “So sweet and salty—just how I like it.”

As my chest rumbles against her torso, I feel her shiver in my arms in response before she giggles at my comment. And I can’t help but chuckle as she does, realizing just how ridiculous my own words sound.

As our laughter dies down, I move my hands to the side of her hips, sliding four fingers in between the band of her spandex and her skin, my thumb staying outside. I slide the material down her legs, lowering my body as it reaches her knees and calves. I’m just slightly bending down as I pull it down to her ankles, and Calla steps out of them, kicking them to the side and against the wall. I come back up and take half a step back, and both our eyes glance down at the only piece of clothing that’s left on both our bodies, and then we look back up at one another.

This time, Calla reaches out to me, slipping her fingers down the sides of my boxers on my waistband. She pulls them down me slowly, my half-hard cock springing out. Once they reach my mid-thighs, she lets go and lets them fall to my ankles. I step out of them and kick them to where her leggings are.

Now I reach out to her, but I place my hand down the middle of her thong, bringing my palm over her pussy. I rub her clit in slow circles with my index and middle finger, my eyes on her face as I watch her bite down on her lip while I do. She looks back into my eyes, hers filled with warmth and a hint of lust as I play with her clit briefly. But I quickly pull my hand out of her panties, only to pull them off her hips and down her legs till they fall to the ground. She lifts her leg up, dangling them by the lace trim off her foot, and flicks them against the wall with the rest of our clothes. She lifts her hands up above her head, reaching to undo the bouncy, little ponytail that her curly hair is pulled into.

I shake my head at her as she does, causing her to pause. “No—turn around,” I tell her. Calla nods her head and does so, her back facing me, and I step forward. Our bodies press against each other as I bring my hands her ponytail, slipping a finger into her hair tie. I undo it for her carefully and gently, untwisting it till I pull it out, her wild and poofy curls coming loose. I place it on the counter around the sink as Calla dips her head back, fluffing out her hair.

Calla turns around and walks to the shower where she pulls the curtain back and places her hand under the water, checking the temperature. I walk over to her, wrapping my arms around her hips, my body pressing to her backside. She giggles in my arms as she pulls her hand away from the water, and then pulls the shower curtain all the way open. Calla steps inside, one foot at a time, leaving my grasp. I watch as some of the water hits her body and hair, small droplets of water sitting on her hair, while some bits of it become dark and begin to flatten down, and beads of water trailing down her dark caramel skin. She quickly steps away from the water, giving me room to come in, and I lick my lips as I watch one drop of water in particular run down the curve between her waist and hips.

I step inside the shower now, underneath her showerhead that is thankfully taller than me. As the hot water hits my skin and dampens all of my hair, I close the shower curtain for us. I look to Calla next, who is facing me with her arms wrapped around her chest, over her breasts, her body trembling a bit. I wrap my arms around her petite body and pull her into me and under the water, pressing my lips to her forehead. I press my lips to her cheek next, and then her neck with a feathery, light, and slow kiss.

“Better?” I ask in a whisper, my lips below her earlobe and where her jaw and neck connect.

She nods her head. _“So much better,”_ Calla replies in a whisper, and I smile against her. I then press my lips to hers in a sweet, chaste kiss, and she returns the kiss. The hot water continues to hit our bodies as we kiss, enveloping us in more warmth, and we both pull away at the same time.

Calla pulls back just a bit from me, and she turns her head away momentarily as she reaches around me to the side where bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash are. She grabs the smaller bottle that’s green and clear, and brings it back in between us. She opens it then holds it with one hand, squeezing a small dollop of shampoo into the palm of her other hand. Calla turns her head up afterwards and looks at me with a smile. “Hold out your hand,” she tells me. My lips slightly curl into a close-lipped smile as I place my cupped hands together in the little space that’s between us. She squeezes out another dollop into my hands and closes the cap, then once more reaches over me and places it back on the shelf where it once was.

Her head is tilted up at me, and mine down at her, as she brings her hands to the top of her head. She starts to rub in the shampoo into her damp and dark curls that stick to the side of her head, neck, shoulders, and upper back. Her eyes close as her hands move through her hair, and her head tilts back slightly. Once she’s gotten all the shampoo through her hair, her eyes open. She gathers her hair together on top of her head, patting on it with her hands covered in shampoo to make sure it stays put. All the while I watch her as I use both my hands to cover the shampoo through the little amount of hair I have, massaging my scalp in the process.

“Move the shower head a bit lower, please,” she asks politely in that small voice of hers, and I find my smile just barely growing in size.

I reach up behind me with one hand and lower it slightly, so it’s aimed perfectly down at her head, and smile as the water starts to hit her face and neck.

Calla squeezes her eyes shut as the water hits her, and she giggles as she places her hands up to wipe her eyes. “You’re a little shit, you know that?” she asks as she takes a step back, brown eyes snapping open. A smirk takes over her smile as she slightly narrows her eyes at me.

“Hey, I just gave you what you asked for,” I counter, shrugging my shoulders as I flash her a pearly white smile.

She presses her lips together and glares at me playfully, before turning around so her back faces me. She takes two steps backward till she comes against my body, and the water is hitting part of my chest and the back of her head. Her hands reach up and into her hair, but I place mine over them. I lean into her right ear and whisper, _“Let me.”_

I hear a soft, small breath leave her lips, and her hands relax under mine. She slowly brings them back down, letting them dangle at her sides. And as the water hits her hair, I completely dig my fingers into her curls, rinsing out the shampoo in them gently and slowly. My fingers massage her scalp in the process, and her head tilts back as I do, and she wraps her arms around her lower belly, placing her hands on opposite sides of her hips. I see that her eyes are closed, and she’s wearing a small, content smile. My breath hitches in my throat at the sight—as I watch her basking in the pleasure of my hands working their way through her hair, the back of her body pressing a bit more against me. I bring my lips to the top of her left shoulder, where I’m certain there’s no shampoo at, and give her skin there a light kiss.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that, Calla?” I say in a low voice against her skin. I feel her body shiver against mine when I do, and I can’t help but chuckle just a bit as I lift my head back up.

She laughs under her breath as her hands reach up and rub her eyes, then uses them to clear off whatever shampoo is on her face too. “Stop it,” Calla says in a whisper, as she brings her head back down and turns to the side to look back at me. Her brown eyes flicker up and meet mine, wide as she innocently blinks.

I shake my head as I finish up rinsing out the rest of the shampoo in her hair. “Nope,” I reply, washing out the last of it that’s on the ends of her hair. “I’ll take any chance I get to say it when we’re not on campus and together. So you might want to get use to it,” I smile.

I finish with her hair, pulling my hands out of it. I reach back and push the shower head a bit up, so the water is hitting the top of my head now. And as I bring my hands down to the top of my head, that’s when Calla’s hands suddenly reach out and squeeze my upper arms without warning.

 _“Let me, Jeffrey,”_ she says with determined and just barely sparkling eyes.

I laugh a little at her statement, and she only smirks at my reaction. I shake my head as I turn around so my back faces her, and my hands come down to my sides. I close my eyes as I feel her long, slim fingers slip into my hair, her fingertips pressing gently against my head. I can tell she’s on her tip-toes because I can feel the front of her body press more into my back, and her body raise up just a bit as well. So I tilt my head back to try and make it easier for her to reach up. And as her fingers embed themselves deep into my hair, scrunching it up as she massages my scalp just as I did for her, I involuntarily let out a deep and quiet groan.

“Well, _shit,_ you should have told me you’re an expert at this,” I say, a throaty and light chuckle leaving me afterwards.

I can hear her adorable giggle from behind me as she continues to rinse the shampoo out of my hair while treating me to this massage. I feel her body press against mine, followed by the sound of her sucking in a breath directly over my right ear before flirtatiously whispering, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, _Professor Morgan.”_

I blink my eyes open as I completely raise my brows, starting to turn my head so I can look back at her. _“Really_ now?” I ask, pausing before continuing, “You’re going to have to fucking _spill_ now that you’ve told me.”

I can feel her lips hovering right above the shell of my ear as she laughs a little. “And _you’re_ going to have to find out for yourself over time,” Calla replies, then kisses my cheek before pulling away completely from me.

She washes out the remaining bit of shampoo out of my hair, and places her hands on my shoulders, squeezing them. “You’re all done!”

I turn around, and I’m welcomed once more with the sight of her, dark caramel skin glowing against all the white tile and surfaces that surround us in this shower. I’m welcomed with the sight of her arms crossed over her chest, covering her breasts a bit, but the rest of her bare and exposed as she stands with confidence and full of happiness in front of me—with drops of water all over her body, some even on her cheeks and forehead, and one in particular strolling down the curve of her small nose—and with cheeks that have a slight tinge of pink in them, and warm eyes and a smile in my direction.

“I may be a little shit, but _you—you’re_ a _tease,_ Calla,” I say, circling my arms around her lower back, pulling her into my body once more. I lean down into her, and slightly turn my head to the right towards her. The tip of my nose brushes against the side of her nose and a bit of her cheek, and my lips hover above hers. I remove one of my arms from her and bring that hand to the left side of her face, placing my fingertips against her jawline and pushing her head, making it turn to the right towards me. Her eyes, that were downcast in this moment, blink as they glance up and into mine. And I’m met with the sight of chocolate brown eyes that stare at me with wonder and awe—with her brown eyes that I can’t stop staring into the depths of, finding nothing but my own reflection and the warmth in those chocolate irises.

As I slowly—oh so slowly—bring my lips closer to hers, my eyes starting to close halfway, all I can hear is the sound of my low and deep breaths, and her soft and light ones, intermingling—it’s all I can hear, despite the sound of the hot, running water that’s pouring on our bodies echoing throughout her bathroom.

Our lips finally meet, both of us closing our eyes as they do. It’s light at first—our lips barely grazing against one another before we slightly deepen it, pressing our lips slightly more firmly to each other. Then our lips part, just for a brief second, before coming together with more pressure for a third time. It’s during this time when I press the thumb of the hand, which is on the left side of her face along her jaw still, against the corner of her jaw where it connects with her neck. I bring the rest of my fingers along the edge of her jaw, over her chin, holding her face in my grasp like this. And as I do, Calla suddenly deepens the kiss as she presses all of her body against me.

I feel nothing but my heart fluttering—I feel like nothing but deep within the center of my upper chest is burning and somehow like I’m floating, feeling lighter and lighter as if she’s breathing helium into me every time our lips meet. I hear nothing but her slight and subtle gasps of breath when our lips part for a second before molding against each other again, and the sound of my own breath getting caught in my throat momentarily before falling off my lips during that second our lips part.

She breaks our kissing, pulling her head back from me. Her body that’s pressed against mine slightly lowers itself, as she goes from standing on her tiptoes to back on her feet. She turns her head to the left, reaching her arm in that direction as she grabs another bottle off the shelf. She opens it and then squeezes a decent amount of the contents into her hand, and turns her head up to me next. “Do you use conditioner for that wonderful, messy hair of yours?” Calla asks, wrinkling her nose playfully at me after her lips curl into an adorable, full smile.

“Nope—I’m a pretty simple man, if you can’t already tell,” I say, laughing lightly. “And I’m _glad_ you like my hair, cause _fuck_ do I like those curls of yours,” I tilt my chin up a bit towards her as I grin.

“I know,” Calla replies, still smiling as she closes the conditioner bottle and places it back on the shelf. She places her hands in her hair and starts to cover it in the conditioner. “Both about you being a simple man, _and_ you liking my hair,” she smirks.

I turn my head away from hers briefly, inspecting the bottles as she speaks. I see one marked as body wash, and continue to read the rest of the label on the front of the bottle. It’s bright pink, with a picture of a pomegranate that’s split open, and a slice of mango above it, in the lower left corner of the bottle. _Juicy Pomegranate & Mango Infusions, _ it reads in large white letters at the top _._ Next to this bottle is a golden tan bottle of body wash, and that one says at the top, _Warm Brown Sugar & Vanilla. _ As I grab the pink bottle and turn my head back to hers, my eyes landing on Calla, I think to myself, _No wonder why she smells either like nothing but fruit or like vanilla...not that I mind._ I glance away from her and down at the bottle as I open it, and just as I’m about to pour a bit into my hand Calla speaks up.

“Hmmm...I didn’t take you as a _Juicy Pomegranate & Mango Infusions _ kind of man. I always thought you were a _Smooth Leather & Sandalwood _ one.”

I blink my eyes and look up to her as I still hold the open bottle in my hand. “Actually, I’m _both_ a _Smooth Leather & Sandalwood _ and a _Cedarwood_ kind of man. But I’ll take what I can get _...given the circumstances,”_ I reply, my lips curling back into a slightly left-slanted smile.

“Well, looks like you’ll be smelling like me today,” she replies, as she continues rubbing the conditioner into her hair, and as I squeeze out some body wash into my palm.

I close and put the bottle back on the shelf, then rub my hands together. I use both hands covered in the body wash to spread it over my chest, arms, stomach, and as much of my shoulders and back that I can reach. I rinse it off my torso and back afterwards with the water, and then grab the bottle again. I pour a bit more into my palm, enough to take care of the lower half of my body, close the bottle, and place it back. I do the same thing as before, but spread it over my hips, groin, and legs, and rinse it all off with the water afterwards.

After I finish up, which is when Calla is done with putting all her hair that’s covered in conditioner on the top of her head, Calla’s hand reaches for the pink bottle of body wash that’s back on the shelf. I quickly grab it before she can, and jerk the bottle out of her reach, causing her eyes to widen and lips to slightly part.

I lick my lips as they pull back into a grin that spreads across my face. Calla only presses her lips together as she stares at me with narrowed eyes, just barely shaking her head at me. I raise the bottle up, still out of her reach, open it, and pour some body wash into my palm. I close the bottle and place it on one of the corners of the bathtub behind me, and spread the body wash between both my palms. And as I place my hands on her upper arms, starting to rub it over her arms, chest, and upper portion of her body, Calla slowly smiles from ear-to-ear at me.

“I should have known…” she comments, slightly shaking her head still—both at herself and me. “You know, I could have—”

“Shhhh,” I purse my lips together, gently hushing her. After covering her arms with the body wash, my hands run up to her shoulders and along her collarbone, till they meet in the center of her chest. I lean in, my eyes half shut as my lips hover over hers just as they did earlier. _“Let me,”_ I whisper yet again. My hands come up to her neck, my fingers spreading around to the back of her neck while my palms stay in the center, gently rubbing the body wash against her skin there. _“Just let me, Calla. Just let me,”_ I add in another whisper, as my fingers curl and uncurl along the back of her neck, and my lips brushing against hers as I say this.

She barely, just barely and slowly nods her head, while her doe-like eyes are staring into mine. “Okay.”

Calla closes what little distance there is between our lips, and I return her kiss by pressing back. And just like always—just as it has been since our very first kiss—our lips naturally mold together. My bottom lip is between both of hers, my head tilted slightly as she reaches up. We instinctively fall back into our usual rhythm of kissing, our lips moving against each other slowly and sensually. Meanwhile, my hands leave her neck, coming back down to just below her collarbone. I move them down her chest, each hand coming over her breasts, gently squeezing them, my fingers spread apart and my fingertips curling into her. My hands relax, but still hold onto them, and I start to massage her breasts in my hands. Calla slightly gasps into our kiss when I do, and as her lips part, I slide my tongue into her mouth. As my tongue comes over hers, her lips press more firmly against mine. She flicks her tongue against mine before curling it over mine.

My hands now leave her breasts and run along down her torso, starting first with her stomach. I feel her ribcage against my palms as I move my hands—as she slightly arches her back and breathes against me. My hands run along both sides of her waist, softly at first as they move up and down her curves there, before my hands squeeze her there. Calla’s tongue pushes against mine as I do—as I deepen our kiss more at the same time that I squeeze the curves between her waist and hips—and our tongues meet halfway as they move and twist over each other slowly.

I let go of her waist and bring my hands to her lower belly, running them over her there, and then to her hips. I feel how flat and tight her stomach is during this entire time, and the few lines that defines the muscles she has there. I then grip her gently by her hips, my thumbs pressing into her hip bones there, and Calla’s lips leave mine when I do. She pulls back, just for a moment, before all at once slamming her lips against mine, capturing my bottom lip between both of hers. Calla sucks on my bottom lip, making me squeeze her hips a bit more and jerk her body closer to mine.

She starts to nibble on my lip, followed by running her tongue over it and sucking, and nibbles again. I groan into her from pleasure as she does, and I let go of her hips. My hands run behind them, on her lower back, coming together in the middle. With my fingers spread apart, I move my hands up all along her back, feeling how it curves and arches in the spot between her lower and middle back. I can’t help but curl my fingers as my hands run over that spot, her flesh slightly pinching under my grasp. Calla releases my bottom lip when I do, and her lips once more part against mine in a moan.

 _“Fuck, Calla,”_ I mumble against her lips, my fingers uncurling as I do. I move my hands higher up her back, to where they’re at her mid-back now. “Your body...is so _fucking sexy,”_ I continue, and when I say those last two words my hands squeeze over her mid-back and grip her there. I slam my lips back against hers, and she gasps once more against me.

Her arms come around my lower back, and I feel her hands begin to wander along my body there now. I feel her small hands, which only cover a small portion of the width of my mid-back when put together, grazing all over my skin. My hands, which are large enough in contrast to cover the entire width of her mid and upper back, move to where her shoulder blades somewhat poke out, and where the the muscles of her upper back noticeably stand out, too.

“Speak—for—your—self,” she replies in between our lips moving against each other.

I chuckle against her lips, and pull my head away to break our kiss momentarily, my hands that were moving down her back stopping in the middle. “You find an old man’s body sexy, huh?” I ask, smiling at her.

Calla starts to smile as she opens eyes to look at me. “Now who was the one who once said this ever-famous quote: ‘I don’t think an old man can fuck you like I do?’” she smirks.

I roll my eyes at her, still smiling. “Yours truly.”

“Mhmmm,” she replies, “But I don’t think you are an old man, especially considering when you have _this,”_ Her hands suddenly squeeze my ass cheeks much to my surprise, and I bite down on my lip, “kind of ass.” Calla’s hands wander down a bit further, over my hamstrings, moving back over my upper thighs, moving up to my torso. “On top of the rest of your _fucking sexy_ body,” she continues, her hands moving up and down my chest and stomach, eyes looking down in admiration even—in the same way that I look at her and her gorgeous, incredibly toned body. “And even if you are an old man...it still seems like I find your body to be hot as hell itself, and _no one can fuck me like you do,”_ Calla adds, and when she says this last bit her hands squeeze down on my upper thighs, where they’re so damn close to where my dick is that keeps getting harder as she keeps talking like this.

My hands resume with moving down her back now; I lean back into where our lips are close again, both of us staring into each other’s eyes with lust. When I reach her lower back I slowly bring my hands down her ass, each covering an ass cheek. _“That’s fucking right,”_ I growl, firmly squeezing both cheeks in my hands as I thrust my hips forward against her, my hard cock between her legs.

Before she can reply—before she can do or say anything in return—I slam my lips back against hers, and bring her bottom lip in between mine this time around. I massage her small, yet round and perky ass cheeks in my hands, every now and then squeezing them tight and firmly before gently massaging again, as I suck on her bottom lip. All of that, along with the pressure of my dick against her pussy, seems to be what makes her moan a bit louder than before against me and press her body further against mine.

As I nibble and suck on her bottom lip, Calla wraps an arm around my lower back to press ourselves closer together. And that’s when I feel her small hand, which comes in between her legs, take me by the base. She starts to rub my thick tip over her clit for a bit, causing a small and muffled sigh against my lips, and I sigh into her too from the slight friction. When I feel her bring me down to her entrance, my mushroom tip pressing against her there and _just about_ to come into her, I take a step back. Calla lets go of my dick as she does, her eyes opening as mine do.

“Not until you’re all clean, sweetheart _—then_ you can get what we _both_ want,” I tell her, licking my lips as I look back down at her tight, toned and petite body.

She raises her brows, scoffing at me as she quickly grabs the bottle of body wash from behind me. Her head shakes as she puts some in her hand, closes the bottle, and I take it from her so I can put it back on the shelf. _“I’m_ the tease?” Calla says, hurriedly running the body wash all over her legs as fast as possible, “I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around!”

I laugh as I bring my hands up under the shower head, rinsing them clean of the body wash that covered them. “I gotta admit, you’re right,” I say as I rinse my hands off. I bring them back down and look to her, only to see that she’s done using the body wash and motioning towards the shower head with her chin. I reach it and tilt it down till it’s hitting her body, then take a step back so I’m out of her way. “Why don’t we come to the agreement, then, that we’re _both_ teases?”

“Sounds like a good compromise to me,” Calla smiles as she continues at her fast pace of cleaning her body off.

“You don’t have to be in such a hurry,” I tell her, chuckling lightly. “I’m not going anywhere...and neither is my dick, it seems,” I add, glancing down at my still-erect-cock.

Calla glances down as well, and we both glance up at each other’s eyes at the same time, making us both laugh. “I know, and I can see that as well. But I just…” she licks her lips as she finishes rinsing the body wash off the rest of her body, “You don’t know how much I _need_ _you to fuck me right now,”_ Calla finishes, taking that moment in between her finishing washing her body and turning around to start to wash the conditioner out of her hair to look at me with a smirk.

I only feel my hard cock grow impossibly harder at this comment, on top of how her brown eyes that are filled with nothing but lust are looking into mine, and I bite down on my lip. “Hurry—” I grip her by the shoulders and quickly spin her around, to where her back is facing me, “—the fuck up!” I say, letting go of her and moving the shower head so the water is hitting the back of her head.

Calla brings her hands to her head, and she starts to wash the conditioner out of it as fast as humanly possible. “I am!” she replies, giggling. “You just _had_ to say once I’m _completely_ clean, didn’t you?”

“Hey—can’t risk body wash getting in fucking places it shouldn’t!”

“Well...you just _had_ to make cleaning my body all _sexual_ then, didn’t you?” she counters.

“Calla...it’s fucking _you_ and _me_ we’re talking about here—what else did you think was going to end up happening?” I challenge.

She giggles as she nods her head, “Fuck, you’re right. We were the ones who couldn’t wait to get back to your office and fucked in the classroom of all places.”

We both laugh in unison at that last bit as Calla finishes up rinsing out the last of the conditioner. I notice her just barely starting to turn around to face me when she does, and before she can I’m gripping one of her shoulders and hips, pressing the front of her body against the wall covered in cold tile. Her right cheek presses to the cool surface, and my hand on her hip comes to her middle back where I push down a bit more. I press my body against hers, my hard cock against her ass.

“You said you _need_ me to fuck you, right?” I whisper in her ear, and flick her earlobe with my tongue.

She nods her head, her cheek moving against the tile. _“Yes.”_

I take my hand off her back and move it to in between her thighs. The back of it runs along both of her inner thighs, before my palm comes over her pussy. I rub her clit in circles, and she pushes her ass against my dick.

 _“Jeffrey,”_ she says my name, “You know what I want…”

It’s strange—how much we want each other—how much we always need each other—as if we can never get enough. And I know it’s not me having some lust I can’t control for a hot piece of young ass—and I know it’s not her having “daddy issues,” lust for an older man, or lust for her professor. I know it’s because it’s _her—_ because there’s _something_ about _her—_ and I don’t even know what it is. I have no idea.

“I know,” I whisper, pressing my lips affectionately to her cheek. “I want it, too,” I kiss her cheek again.

But I do know it’s mutual—I do know it’s the same on her side—that there’s just _something_ about me for her and she doesn’t know what it is either. And it makes it to where this constant thirst—this constant want and need can’t be quenched even momentarily.

My hand leaves her pussy, only to grab my dick and ready myself at her entrance. I press my lips to her shoulder for a second and pull away, then slowly begin to enter her.

“Oh my god,” she moans as I start to fill her up, her tight and moist walls stretching to accommodate my length and width. I sigh as well, me entering her seeming to put this need to be together to rest, but just for a moment.

I’m slow until I’m finally completely inside her, feeling myself filling her to the hilt. And that’s when I start to immediately pick up the speed, quickly sliding out of her only to slam myself back inside all at once. She gasps and moans with each fast, hard thrust, and I groan as I pick up to where I’m jackhammering myself in and out of her.

 _“Fuck!”_ I groan loudly as I move in and out. My body presses impossibly more against hers as I slide an arm around her hips and grab her right ass cheek with my other hand. I slap her ass and then grasp it, massaging her cheek.

Calla’s moans increase with volume with every thrust—with every time she feels me fill her up all at once. “Ah!” she yelps, but it comes out mixed in a satisfied moan, when I slap her ass cheek. “Jeffrey, oh my god,” she mumbles as I massage her there afterwards while still thrusting in and out of her with great force and speed.

We continue like this—with me thrusting as hard and fast in and out of her as possible, while slapping her ass and massaging it right afterwards every now and then—for I don’t know how long. We both moan each other’s names loudly over and over again, and I feel myself growing closer to the edge. At one point Calla takes one of her hands that’s on the wall off and reaches back, wrapping her arm around my hamstrings to get me to thrust impossibly faster and harder, as her other hand stays on the wall.

“I’m close—I’m fucking close!” Calla tells me, and I can feel myself reaching the very brink as well.

My lips are at her ear, my hot breath on the nape of her neck. “C’mon, Calla—come with me, Calla,” I mumble into her, and press my lips against her neck, only to groan afterwards. I bring a hand in between her legs and press the tips of two of my fingers to her clit, starting to rub it vigorously in a circular motion.

“Fuck, Jeffrey!” she moans incredibly loud, and I can feel her legs start to tremble against my body. Her arm squeezes around my hamstrings tighter, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

And that’s when I feel it—when I feel her walls tighten, squeezing and clamping down all around my cock, twisting around it as she coats me with her juices that drip down my base and on my thighs. My release comes at the same time as hers, my cock twitching inside of her followed by my cum shooting out in spurts, spilling out inside of her. And when we both feel it, her head turns back and mine towards her, our lips coming together in a messy and moist kiss as we moan into each other. My thrusts slow down quickly as I finish up, until I’m completely done.

My lips leave hers, and I press my forehead against the back of her shoulder as we catch our breaths. I remain inside her like this, as the now cold water from the shower keeps pouring down over our bodies and washes off our sweat, my dick slowly growing limp.

I finally pull out of her slowly, groaning a bit as I do. I let the water wash off our intermingled juices from my dick and thighs, and she uses this opportunity to clean herself up too since we’re in the shower. After we’re both done, as Calla reaches past me to turn off the water, I lean in and kiss her affectionately, making her happily smile against my lips.

* * *

_6:15 P.M._

After coming home from working at my internship an hour ago, I immediately drop off my stuff and go to prepping the full dinner I’m going to cook for us tonight. I have music playing in the background from my speakers that I connected my phone to; I can’t help but dance around the kitchen as I sing the lyrics to the song as I prep and begin cooking the meal. I know Jeffrey will be here soon based off our schedules that we talked about earlier this morning.

I stand at the counter, still dressed in my low-cut, long-sleeve, white, and chiffon blouse that’s tucked into my high-waist, black pants that are loose yet tight enough to show my long legs and slight curves. I have a blue, floral apron on top to cover my clothes from getting dirty. I took off my heels the moment I got home, just as I always do, so my barefeet are sliding and moving against the hardwood floor every time I move as I dance and sing. I’m chopping away at some garlic cloves and fresh herbs on the cutting board for the homemade bolognese sauce to go with the spaghetti for tonight’s dinner. But because of the music going on, mixed with my light singing and concentration on the task at hand, I don’t hear the front door open and Jeffrey slip inside my apartment—I don’t even hear as the door shuts afterwards, followed by him making his way to the kitchen slowly.

I smile as I look down, finishing up with what I’m chopping, shaking my hips to the beat of the song that’s currently playing, “Paradise City” by Guns N’ Roses. I don’t even know he’s here until I feel two hands placed on my hips from behind, making me completely jump and stop cutting. I still hold onto the knife, with the blade set against the cutting board, as I turn my head back.

“Shit! Ever heard of announcing yourself first?” I half gasp and laugh at the same time, smiling as I shake my head at him.

“Oh, c’mon! How can you expect me to when I come in and find you in the kitchen, wearing this _adorable_ little thing,” Jeffrey takes a hand off my right hip to momentarily tug at the end of my apron gently, “singing and dancing all _sexy_ to Guns N’ Roses?” he laughs at the end, throwing his head back as he does. As his laughter dies down and he brings his head back down, he places his hand back on my right hip.

“It’s ‘Paradise City’—do you _really_ think I couldn’t jam out to this _at all?”_ I ask, raising a brow.

That’s when I feel the hands that are on my hips grip them tighter, starting to shake me back and forth playfully as he leans in closer. “Don’t stop just because I came in! I fucking love this song, too!”

As I throw my head back in laughter now, resting it on his left shoulder, I place the knife down on the cutting board. I bring my head back up after my laughter stops, and that’s when I feel him moving directly behind me. I turn my head in curiosity, wondering what the hell I’m about to find, only to see that his arms are raised up in the air, head bobbing, and eyes shut as he dances and sings the lyrics.

“Take me down to the paradise city, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty!” I can hear him belt out as he dances along, only opening his eyes to look at me. When he finds that I’m staring at him with my lips parted, the left corner twitching as my mouth tries to curl up into a smile, Jeffrey bursts out into laughter that quickly dies down for the next part.

“Ohh won’t you please take me hoooooomeeee, ohhhh yeah!” I can’t help but spin around to face him just as this next lyric begins, joining in with him on singing it aloud as we both match the pitch of all the words.

We both giggle a bit at the end of it, only for me to hold up my “air guitar,” pretending to strum away as the guitar solo goes on. As I do, Jeffrey takes a step back, his mouth agape as he starts to smile from ear-to-ear, continuing to dance while throwing his hands up in the air. He motions his hands towards me and exclaims, “Damn, girl! Hell yeah—look at _you!”_

I only giggle at his commentary, shaking my head as I continue on with the guitar solo. Jeffrey starts to strum his own “air guitar,” too, right before the next lyrics come in.

“Sooo faaaaaaar away,” we sing together, both taking a step forward so we’re standing right in front of one another. “Sooo faaaaaaaar awwaaay,” we continue on, and sing the next two lyrics that are exactly this.

As soon as that lyric is finished being repeated for the fourth time, we drop our arms to the side and burst out into laughter. My eyes are shut as I throw my head back, giggling like mad. I feel Jeffrey’s arms circle around my upper back, hearing a mix of his boyish, adorable giggling with his light chuckling in my ear, holding me close as he begins to sway me slowly from side to side.

“Oh my god,” I laugh into his chest now, shaking my head as my hands grip onto his light blue button down shirt. “No one has seen this side of me before,” I pause, lifting my head up to look at him. He’s looking down at me, wearing nothing but a warm smile. “Well…” I continue, my lips twisting in thought as I glance away from him for a moment, “except for my best friend during our high school jam out sessions in my car, and whenever we’d see each other while visiting home during breaks when we were in college and law school.” My eyes meet his again now.

“Ooohhhh, Calla,” Jeffrey chuckles as he pulls me in closer, his arms around the back of my head and upper back. I feel him smiling against me as he rests his right cheek on the top of my head. “Let just say I feel lucky, and that you definitely shouldn’t quit your day job.”

My brows completely raise, my eyes widen, and I open my mouth in shock, pulling away from his arms instantly at the sound of this. “Hey! I can say the same about you! I don’t think you should even be on _Dancing With The Stars_ any time soon either,” I look him up and down as I smirk before my eyes land on him.

He laughs at my comment, and the end of his laughter starts to turn into a slow groan as he steps back toward me. “C’mon—I’m hungry; let’s get back to cooking instead of talking on and on about how crappy we _both_ are at this.” His hands come to my arms, gently holding me as he turns me back towards the counter.

I let out a long sigh mixed with a groan, walking to the counter. “Fine...but I _still_ get to sing and dance while I cook! You can’t stop me there,” I say as I stop in the front of the counter, picking back up the knife.

“Hey—I’m not saying you shouldn’t at all. I fucking like it actually,” he says, leaning back against the counter and cabinets to my right, arms crossing over his chest. “It’s adorable...and _really_ _sexy_ even.” I can see his head turn towards me from the corner of my eye now.

I smile as I continue to look down, doing the last bit of chopping left. I finish within this very moment and I turn my head to him and see that he’s biting down on the left corner of his bottom lip. “Oh yeah, huh?” I ask, and I turn my body to face him. “Like this?” I start to shimmy, knife still in hand, while smiling at him.

He uncrosses his arms and pushes himself off the counter and cabinets, walking the two steps that are in between us towards me, laughing as I’m still shimming my chest and shaking my hips. “Ohhhh yeah _—just_ like that, sweetheart,” Jeffrey says, eyebrows raised, his pupils dilated even, still biting down on his lip with his arms spread out. I feel his arms circle back around me, but looser this time, and our bodies are pressed together; I place the knife back on the cutting board as he does.

 _“Mhmmmm..._ you better,” I reply as I still smile, my arms coming around his neck. I tilt my head completely up, leaning into him as I come on my tiptoes to peck his lips. Jeffrey meets me halfway, our lips momentarily meeting in this sweet kiss for a second before pulling back. I quickly let go of him and walk to the counter, grabbing the chopping board and knife, and ten walk to the stove. I dump the fresh herbs and garlic cloves into one of the two large pots that are on the burners. I place the cutting board and knife back down on the counter to the side, grab the wooden spoon that’s in the pot, and start to stir everything into the sauce.

“What can I do to help?” he asks, and I turn my head back to see where he stands in the middle of the kitchen.

“Can you stir the pasta for me, please? I don’t want it sticking to the pot—it should almost be done by now.”

I turn my head back down, looking at the contents of the bolognese sauce that I’m stirring around, as Jeffrey steps directly beside me to the right where the other pot on the stove is. Our elbows and upper arms bump and brush against each other as we both stir because of how tiny my stove is, and it only makes me smile and my face flush. I glance over to him at one point, my head barely turning to get a better look, wanting to see if it’s making him feel the same way. I see that there’s a slight, pink blush on his tanned cheeks, and he’s smiling to himself as he looks down. My smile only grows more at the sight. I quickly turn my head away from him and back to the sauce.

“Looks ready—how long has it been cooking for now?” he asks.

“Fifteen minutes; it should be good to go by now.” I place the wooden spoon back in the pot, letting it rest against the side of it, and turn towards Jeffrey. The side of my body completely presses against his as I swoop my head under his arm, trying to get around him. I place my hand on the top of where his hand is gripping the top of the wooden spoon he’s using. “I’ll take care of it; don’t worry,” I say, turning my head to look up at him.

Jeffrey’s eyes leave the pot as my hand overlaps his, our bodies pressing together as I try to take over, and flicker over to me.

“Whatever you want—you’re the chef tonight, after all,” Jeffrey says with a nod, his hand letting go and sliding off the spoon as he takes a few steps back. “Your kitchen, your rules.”

I smile as I let go of the spoon, take the pot by the handle, and walk across the kitchen straight past Jeffrey to the sink where the strainer is. “Thank you for appreciating that; although, there’s just two more things I could use your help for,” I say, standing in front of the sink as I pour the pasta into the strainer.

“Yeah? What are they?” he asks eagerly.

“Could you pour some wine into two glasses, please?” I ask, head turned down as I shift the pasta in the strainer to drain the rest of the water.

“Like I said, whatever you want, sweetheart.”

When he says this, I turn my head up momentarily to look at him, finding that his lips are curling into a pearly white smile. He winks at me once he’s completely grinning, and motions towards me with a slight upward tilt of his chin. I bite down on my bottom lip as I start to smile as well, and he turns away to go grab the wine glasses.

* * *

We settle down at the table together, sitting in the same spots we did this morning. Bolognese spaghetti is in our bowls already, our glasses are filled with cabernet sauvignon, and a couple of lit candles are between us in the center of the table. All the lights are off, and the only sources of light are one table lamp that’s turned on, the two lit candles on the table, and the bright glow of the city lights. This dark, very dimly lit setting creates a romantic and intimate atmosphere. After a bit of talking about our days, the conversation does quickly does become intimate and personal.

“You said this morning that you’ve been running since you were twelve,” Jeffrey brings up, pausing from eating to look at me, and relaxing back against his chair. “How did that happen?”

In the midst of bringing a bite of pasta to my mouth, I start to smile as I glance down at my bowl while placing my fork back down. “Well,” I begin, drawing in a breath, “It runs in the family—my dad and his dad ran competitively in Texas. So the moment I was old enough to start competing, since the youngest you can is at the very beginning of middle school, my dad got me out there training. It kind of runs in our genes, ya know? The body type—long legs, short torso, high hips, being lean and not bulky—and him and my grandfather knew I had the body type like they did to do well.”

He leans in now, folding his arms over each other on the table, an obvious spark of curiosity illuminating his eyes.

“So I ran all through middle and high school. I ended up running for UCLA, which is Division 1, and I’m so use to running that I just do it now. And it wasn’t just because I was forced into doing it; I actually _love_ running. With what was going on with my parents, going on a long run became my outlet—running for miles on miles, never wanting to stop, just feeling...feeling _something_ other than _hurt_ —placing and funneling that hurt and pain just _somewhere_ and _somehow.”_

I lick my lips, my smile completely gone at this point, as I glance away from him and down at my lap. “I had a rough patch my first year of college that affected my relationship with running, but even then running was there for me. I started dating this guy I was teammates with. He didn’t know what he wanted at all, so he didn’t know if he wanted me or not. And for nine months it was back and forth—him wanting me one month, and the next not, only to come back and open the door that was our relationship, walking back in as if it was nothing. I didn’t know any better—I was too young to, barely had any experience with relationships at that point, and didn’t know my own self-worth. So I stuck around through it all.”

I look back to him, seeing the corners of his lips pulling down as he listens.

“And even though...even though I knew each time he’d come back that he’d leave again, each time he left it hurt more than the time before.” My lips twist in thought as I look down at the candles. “Until he finally, _finally_ stopped dragging me along and ended it.”

“Fuck, Calla…”

I glance back up to him and start to shake my head. “No—don’t worry. Because running was there for me when he wasn’t—running was there for me when no one else was. And even though I had to deal with seeing him everyday at practice, and for the two years that followed till he graduated the year before I did, I still found that relief and happiness in running. While he...he _hated_ running with his _entire existence._ He was only doing it for the scholarship money, and the fact that I found enjoyment in it actually helped—while he started to obviously resented me of for being able to still love running despite the rigorous practices, while he only kept competing for the scholarship money. Running, and those nine months and the ones that followed, helped define my self-worth that I didn’t have before.”

I give him a genuine close-lipped smile, trying to get him to see that I’m okay—that it’s all fine now. I just hear him sigh in return.

“It’s been a long time since then, Jeffrey...it’s been _seven years._ I’m fine.”

He nods. “I know—I know you are. It doesn’t mean I like to hear it, though—that I like to hear how some _college dumbass_ didn’t know how to treat a woman—didn’t know how to treat _you,_ Calla. I don’t like to hear—”

I take one of my hands off my lap and reach across the table, laying the back of my hand against the surface with my palm open, my eyes on him. Jeffrey unfolds one of his arms and places his hand on mine, still letting his other arm bend as he places that hand on the elbow of his arm that’s extended out to me. His eyes are downcast as he looks at our hands. I squeeze his hand tight, and he glances up at me. He laces our fingers together and squeezes my hand more.

“It’s fine,” I whisper. And that’s all it takes—that’s all it takes for him to return my soft smile with one of his own as he squeezes my hand tighter.

From then on, the conversation gets a bit lighter as we talk more about the law school and the faculty there for about, till it somehow navigates back to my relationship history.

“I have to ask, especially since we’re still _...learning_ about each other,” Jeffrey begins after swallowing a bite of spaghetti, places his elbows on top of the table, and laces his fingers together. “Have you had a serious relationship before?”

I blink my eyes as I finish chewing on the bite of food I had taken before. I swallow it, and quickly nod my head as I reach for a napkin and wipe the sauce that’s on my lips before responding. “Yeah...one,” I reply. I place the napkin back down on the table beside my plate and twist my lips. “Recently, actually…”

He furrows his brow as he looks at me. “Was it with someone at school?”

I nod my head as I place my hands on my lap once more. “Yeah. He’s a fellow third year.”

Jeffrey blinks his eyes now. “Don’t tell me it’s…” he pauses, full-well knowing he won’t have to finish his sentence for me to know who he’s talking about.

“Jake?” I ask, my eyes widening. “Fuck—Christ, no!” I start to laugh. “He’s _gay,_ Jeffrey. And we were enemies until two years ago. _No way in hell_ is it him!”

“Gay?” he asks, eyebrows completely raising and lips parting. “How the _fuck_ was I supposed to know he’s gay?!”

We both laugh in unison as I shake my head at him. And once our laughter dies down, he speaks up again.

“Is he in my class?”

I shake my head. “No—he dropped it before the semester even started, after he broke up with me, because he knew I was in it.”

His brow creases now. “What happened?”

“We started dating about halfway into Fall Semester of 2014—so about two and a half years ago, just a month into our first year of law school. I was running late to the first day of class that Monday, which was for Contracts. I barely made it a minute before class started, and the only seat available was next to him. That week we found out that we had every single class together for the semester, so we stuck together for studying and sat next to each other in every class. And things kind of just...quickly grew from there, I guess.”

He nods his head as he remains silent, letting me know that he’s still listening. I take this very brief pause to readjust myself in my seat, placing my arms flat on the table, with my fingertips of my right hand just barely pressing against my cheek. Then I suck in a breath before continuing.

“He _...Rhett,”_ I correct myself, “and I ran in the same circle of friends, too. I don’t know what else to say, other than for the first year and a half of our relationship, everything was actually good. I mean, other than the occasional time here or there where he’d get pissed and upset at me for beating him out on a test, or getting the top score in our section of a class; but it wasn’t like I couldn’t handle it. That, and I couldn’t blame him—we’re still competitors, and all of us there are nothing but Type A personalities.”

“Pissed at you, for doing better than him? Really?” Jeffrey asks, seeming confused. Then he scoffs aloud, “Yeah, every single one of you are the most cutthroat people I have ever seen in my entire life, but _fuck..._ he should have been _happy_ for you.”

I nod my head slowly in agreement. “I know that now...I saw that after things ended.”

I bite down on my lip as silence comes in between us for two seconds, and then continue.

“He proposed after our last final for Spring Semester of 2016, and I said yes. But things were good until the beginning of July 2016, when we were both well into a summer of interning. Something just _...changed_ in him, and I didn’t know what.”

I knit my brows together and look over at him, finding that his eyes are hard just as mine are.

“He grew distant _—cold..._ nearly frozen, actually. He use to never really have a temper, but before I knew it he started to have a red hot one that summer. I saw less and less of him as that summer went on, until it got to the point where the week before Fall Semester started I was only seeing him once every other week. And even then, it wasn’t for that long because he’d quickly get pissed, throw a fit, and run out of my apartment.”

“The fuck?” Jeffrey asks, clearly taken back by this. “What was going on with him?”

I scoff, smiling as I shake my head. “Yeah...I’ll get to that _real_ soon here. But for now…” I sigh, and then my face grows serious again. “Fall Semester—just this last semester actually—we just had one class together, and for the first couple of weeks things were the same as they were towards the end of summer. That is, until I showed up to his apartment in the middle of the night one weekday to confront him, and that was the most pissed he’s ever seen me be. He finally told me that that his dad had died—that he didn’t want to tell me because he knew I was working insane hours at that internship of mine compared to his, and didn’t want to worry me when I was tired as is. He said that he had been struggling with how to deal with it…”

Jeffrey is silently shaking his head as I talk, and all I want to do is the same because I know the truth—I know what the truth was far more than what Rhett had told me that night, and I’m getting close to telling it to Jeffrey.

“He promised he’d get better—be closer, rely on me more, and treat me better—and I told him I won’t believe it till he actually does and continues to. After that night he was—he was _actually_ trying for the entire month that followed, doing so much better and things were improving between us too...Until by the last month of the semester, things went back to how they use to be that summer.”

“What happened?” Jeffrey asks now, and I look into his eyes. _“What happened, Calla?”_ His eyes are hard and pleading—pleading for me to just get to what he knows is coming next...what he knows will be tough to hear for himself, and difficult for me to say aloud…

I let out a shaky sigh. “At that point, I was about to give up on him—because there’s no point in helping someone that doesn’t want to be. But I still…I still stuck by his side, because I didn’t know what else to do—because I didn’t want to leave him alone to deal with his father’s death—and because it...it was all I had known this entire time in law school. _He_ was all I had known these past three years…”

I lick my lips and suck in a breath.

“I heard from him in between when we’d seen each other from that summer till Christmas; but that’d only be when he’d text me middle of the night during the week and on the weekend, obviously drunk off his ass, only to tell me the next morning that he got trashed and crashed at his place or on a friend’s couch. Then Christmas came and went without a single word from him. And then on the morning of New Year's Eve, he reached out to me by asking if I was in town still and if he could come over to spend time together. I said yes to both, and he came later in the afternoon.”

I swallow as I feel my calves begin to shake a bit. I let out a shaky breath and close my eyes for a second, reopen them, and then keep looking down as I resume.

“He just—fuck, he spilled everything out on the table for me at once. ‘Spending time together,’” I say, using air quotes around those three words, “was code for basically him wanting to just come over and tell me that he started using cocaine after his father died because one of the partners at the firm he was interning at, which was actually the firm his father had been a partner at, got him into it.”

I clench my jaw as I feel my body begin to grow hot.

“It was fucking code for him wanting to tell me that for the last _four fucking months_ he had been seeing another woman because he,” I raise my hands up and use air quotes for this next part, too, “‘needed a fresh start with someone completely different than me;’ that he did because he fell out of love with me because ‘I was too busy for him;’ and so he started _fucking_ some other woman and that turned into _a fucking, actual relationship_ because she was just ‘a fresh start with someone completely opposite of me.’”

As I list this all out I start to talk faster as I grow angrier by the second—as I practically growl and ferociously spit all these words out that he told me. And once I stop, my breathing heavy as my chest moves up and down quickly, both my hands gripping the edge of the table that I’m looking down at with angry eyes, Jeffrey says something.

“Calla—Calla, calm down. Take a slow breath in and out, and look at me.”

He says it so firmly—with so much conviction, and as I try and take that slow breath in and out, I can’t find myself having the ability to look up at him.

_“Look at me.”_

It comes out much firmer this time, with so much strength and a sense of yearning. And it’s this strength and yearning I find myself drawn to that gives me the ability to turn my head up to look at him—to finally let my scared and upset eyes, starting to glisten with tears, meet his gaze.

 _“Breathe._ Just _breathe.”_

He says it just as firmly, but much more calmly and slower this time, enunciating the word “breathe” more than usual. I suck in a long breath through my nostrils, and then let it out in a shaky breath through my mouth. I do this over and over again, while I look into his eyes—as I gaze at the strength coming from his bright, golden brown hazel eyes illuminated by the candlelight—until I find that my chest is rising up and down slowly, my breaths are steady, and my eyes are dry.

“Good,” Jeffrey says. “Now...what happened after that?”

I lick my lips as I nod my head, finding the ability to continue the story calmly now.

“I yelled at him—kicked him out of my apartment, broke up with him even though...even though _he_ was basically breaking up with _me._ Crumpled up against my door after locking it, on the floor crying. And I spent that New Year's Eve _—this_ past New Year's Eve—in my apartment, alone, getting drunk off champagne and eating ice cream in my pajamas all by myself. I never heard from him again after that…It’s been seven weeks since then.”

My eyes are still on him as I say this, and Jeffrey’s are looking into mine too. During this time, I see a look of empathy in his eyes—of care, sorrow, and empathy—and I find myself wondering  _why—why?_

“How about you?” I ask quietly now. “Did you have a serious relationship after Katherine?”

He swallows, his adam's apple moving up and down as he seems to struggle. “One. Recently, just like you,” Jeffrey says quietly.

“What happened?” I reply as I gaze at him with my wide, doe-like eyes.

He licks his lips, looking away from me before starting.

“Since Katherine, I didn’t really _do_ relationships—it wasn’t my thing. Just went out to a bar, picked up a woman, took her back to my place or went to hers, spent the night together, only to never see each other again. It took me a few years to warm up to the idea of dating just for the hell of it—just to see what would happen. But it’s kind of hard to when...well, _fuck,_ when you’re my age,” he chuckles lightly.

“C’mon,” I say, eyeing him. “I’m _right here.”_

Jeffrey genuinely laughs now, smiling as he looks at me. “I _know_ that, but you’re the first young woman to actually be interested in me, let alone the first one that I’ve been interested in.” His smile falls as he looks down. “I guess the better way to put it is...it’s hard to date when you’re my age, because most women my age are married with families, and young women want nothing to do with you.” He shrugs.

“And just look at how much that has changed…” I playfully raise my brows up and down twice at him, earning light laughter in return.

“Mhmm—and you don’t know how much I fucking like it, too,” Jeffrey licks his lips as he smiles. We laugh just a bit more before the silence and serious atmosphere returns.

“Well, it wasn’t until...Fall of 2015 when I finally warmed up to the idea of a serious relationship, and met someone that wanted one with me, too. That was my first semester teaching at the law school after just being hired as part of the permanent faculty. I felt a bit like the black sheep since I was new, and didn’t talk to much of the faculty, except for a couple of members. About a month in, one of those members I would speak to regularly I became friends with, and our friendship started to grow closer...until things heated up.”

I nod my head, letting him know I’m still listening.

“We started to see each other romantically two months into that semester. She’d always come over to my place for dinner or breakfast; she would spend the night once in a blue moon, but I never once went over to her place. She always made up excuses for why I couldn’t come over if I brought it up or asked, and would do the same thing for most of the time when I’d ask her to spend the night; until I just stopped asking about her place and let her bring up that she could sleep over. Going out in public together wasn’t an issue, considering we both agreed to keep this private in case we ran into any students, other faculty, the Dean, or other administrative faculty, since faculty and staff aren’t allowed to date one another at all.”

He sucks in a breath now.

“Things carried on between us for a little over a year, and our feelings and relationship only grew stronger every moment we were together—every time we’d sneak into one another’s office to share any little moment behind closed doors, or she’d come over and spend the night—I just...I grew to care for her deeply. She was the first woman since Katherine I grew to care about.”

“But then…?” I ask quietly, watching his face. I see his brow crease, and his golden brown hazel eyes grow darker as they look down at his lap.

Jeffrey nods his head. “But then...this past Fall Semester, a little over a year into our relationship—in November, actually—I found out why she was always making up all those excuses. In between classes one day, when I didn’t have office hours, I walked over to her office to come in so I could see her like we usually do to each other. But when I got to her door, about to knock on it, I could hear her talking to someone angrily on the phone. Her voice was low, at first, as she spoke to whoever it was on the line...until it raised a bit higher, and I could make out her saying how she wants to divorce him. I remember her exactly saying, ‘I can’t fucking take this any longer, David. I fucking _can’t._ Just because we’re married doesn’t mean we have to be together until the goddamn end of time—so just sign the damn papers already!’”

“Oh no…” I say quietly, my eyes growing impossibly wider as I look at him. “Jeffrey…”

He glances up at me, giving me a close-lipped smile, as if reassuring me everything is okay—that he’s okay, just as I did earlier in the conversation. And somehow that helps.

“She hung up the phone a bit after that, and a few seconds after I knocked on the door. When she opened it and saw me, she looked a bit shocked, and was flustered as she let me come into her office. Once I shut the door, I told her about how I heard it all—I repeated exactly what she said verbatim, too. And all I could do was ask... _why?_ Why the _fuck_ she would do this to him, her _husband—_ to _me,_ after knowing about everything that happened with Katherine and I?”

Jeffrey licks his lips, and I can see him growing a bit upset—a bit angry now, as he says this.

“Because I would fucking _never_ do that to someone, married or not. And I just—I can’t believe her doing that, when I didn’t even think _once_ about doing that to Katherine even though our relationship was long dead…”

I want to reach out and grab his hand—reach out and squeeze it—but I can’t because both hands are in his lap. So I just continue to listen as I watch him with worried and caring eyes.

“She opened one of the drawers in her desk and pulled out her wedding ring. She told me that she never wore her ring at school, and didn’t tell me about this the entire time we were together and when we had met because she didn’t think there was a point to. She told me their relationship had basically been dead for years now—that he wouldn’t even care if he knew she was seeing someone else—and that she was trying to get a divorce from him now.”

He shakes his head angrily.

“And, _fuck,_ Calla—I was _so_ fucking _pissed_ at her. The only thing that kept me from exploding at her was knowing that everyone in the faculty offices would hear us, and so I kept my voice low as I ended things with her right there and then. Because it just...it didn’t matter if she was getting a divorce from him or not—she still not only went behind _his_ back, but went behind _mine,_ too. And even though it fucking hurt me to end things just as much as it hurt to learn this from her, I couldn’t stay with someone like that…”

I start to twist my lips in thought as I think back to this past semester because what I’m hearing right now is starting to sound awfully familiar…

“Well, later that week, her husband apparently found out that she had been seeing me. Only I got no warning or heads up about it from her, and didn’t find out that he did know until he came barging into the middle of one of my classes I had in the afternoon, yelling at the top of his lungs at me about fucking his wife behind his back for over a year. He practically came running at me as fast as possible as I stood in the middle of the room, having to pause in the middle of lecturing because of his yelling, and came launching himself at me. He fucking tackled me to the ground and started to try and punch the ever-living _shit_ out of me, while yelling in my face and cursing me out while doing so, and I couldn’t do anything but fight back to defend myself.”

“Oh _shit!”_ I say, my eyes and mouth as wide as I look at him. “Jeffrey!”

He laughs a bit at me. “I only got a black eye, a few dark purple bruises here and there, and scratches.” Jeffrey points to a small scar on his right cheek, that’s right beside and even slightly blends into the line there that’s a wrinkle from smiling all the time. “Makes me even hotter, right?” he flashes a cocky smile at me. “You should have seen the other guy, sweetheart,” Jeffrey winks.

I bite on my lip as I flirtatiously smile at him. “Well _fuck me,_ Professor Morgan,” I say, “If I would have known about this fight and noticed that scar earlier, I would have fucked you _day one_ of the semester!”

Jeffrey bursts out into a fit of giggles, making me laugh along with him. I like nothing but to hear those cute giggles of his, since he always looks like an adorable, large teddy bear every time he laughs like that. And I know that’s his genuine, real laughter, too.

“Let me finish first, and _then_ we can get onto fucking you, how about that?” he says in reply, and we both giggle like mad together as I nod my head.

“Okay—okay,” I respond as my laughter dies down, and wrap my arms around my waist.

“Anyway, one of my students got security to come in and drag him off—kicked him out and banned him from the law school, and I continued on with lecture as my students had the _pleasure_ of seeing my black eye and other bruises form before their very own eyes,” he chuckles lightly now. “Immediately after that happened...well, she resigned. I heard she moved from NYC but no one knows where to. And well...that’s that.” Jeffrey leans back in his seat, crossing his legs as he looks at me.

I crease my brow as I look at him, remaining silent for a few seconds before finally speaking up. Nothing but memories are flooding back to me in this moment—memories of gossip between Jake and I, with a few others, that sounds very familiar to this…

“Wait...was that Professor Klein you were talking about? Brown hair, a little tan, always wore rather...short skirts for being a professor? Taught Property and Immigration Law?” I inquire curiously.

He groans a bit, giving me an uneasy smile as he replies. “Yeah…”

“I remember hearing about her leaving the law school out of nowhere last semester! Jake and I heard it from a few other third year students who were in her Immigration Law class at the time.  One day they came to class and she didn’t show up, and they received some kind of email saying the next two classes will be canceled because the administration needs to find a ‘replacement’ for Professor Klein because she was taking a leave of absence for ‘medical and personal reasons.’ Quickly after that, it just made it’s way through the grapevine like wildfire that she left out of nowhere but no one knew why. We were also hearing around the same time that a fight happened between a professor and someone but we never found out which professor.”

Jeffrey nods slowly, lips pressed together. “Yup—well, now you know.”

I can’t help but sigh as it completely registers in my mind everything that happened with him—how although it’s pretty much just as recent as my break-up, it must have been and still is much more painful, given his circumstances before…

I get out of my seat, standing up without a word. Jeffrey lifts his head up immediately as I do, tilting it all the way up to look at me. The candles illuminate his confused face that now begins to look hurt—the lit candles allow me to see him turn from being confused about what I’m doing, to worried about me asking him to leave right after hearing this, and then to hurt because it looks like that’s what I’m about to do.

But as I walk alongside this small table towards him, I see his golden, hazel eyes light up as they watch me, a wave of relief coming over him. He scoots his chair back a bit, and settles both his feet on the ground, as I walk over to him. And as soon as I reach him within a few short seconds, I quickly climb into his lap. My arms circle around his neck as I sit down on him, my body facing to the right side with my legs hanging off that side of him as well. I twist my torso towards him, burying my face into the nape of his neck, and pull on his neck as I tighten my grip around him. I remain quiet as I feel his arms slowly come around me, one around my lower back and the other around my waist, resting a hand on the small of my back. I hear his shaky breath near me as we both remain still.

Jeffrey then buries his head into my hair, his face coming to the crook of my neck. The tip of his nose brushes against the side of my neck, his rough and stubbly beard rubbing against my skin as he does this, and his hot and shaky breath hits my skin as his lips hover over me—until I feel them press to my skin as I close my eyes, just barely grazing over me there.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Shhhh,” his lips purse together to shush me, and he presses them to my skin in another kiss afterwards. “It’s okay—it’s okay, Calla.”

I slowly nod my head, feeling my right cheek brush against his neck and the small amount of stubble that comes down under his chin.

 _“Who_ would hurt you like that? _Why_ would someone hurt you like that?” I ask in a whisper, and now I shake my head against him. I squeeze my eyes tighter as I feel like my heart is being squeezed tight by someone’s hand—I don’t know why this wave of pain is overcoming me that I thought was long gone, but at the same time I know all too well why it is now…

“I’m wondering the same thing about you,” Jeffrey replies in a whisper. “Calla, you’re too—”

I blink my eyes open, and pull my head back away from him as he says this. We’re both looking at each other, our faces so close to one another. “Too what…?” I ask.

The hand on the small of my back leaves and comes to my chin, which he gently grabs with a few fingers and slightly tilts up towards him. “Too young to be hurt like that by someone—you’re too—too young for…”

I watch as his hazel eyes grow darker, as doubt and pain noticeably enters them. And my hands instantly come to both sides of his face, my thumbs pressing against his cheekbones.

“I’m not—I’m not. What happened to me is...normal. It’s how love is—how it’s always been. And I’m not—don’t you _dare_ fucking say I’m too young for _‘someone like you,’_ because _I know_ that’s what you were damn well about to say.”

“Fuck, Calla…” Jeffrey curses as he shakes his head in my hands. His hand leaves my chin and now comes to cup my right cheek, and his fingertips affectionately brush over my cheek over and over again. “I’ve loved twice and fucking lost _both_ times. You shouldn’t...you shouldn’t have someone _like me—like_ _this._ Just fucking _look at me…”_

“I am—I am looking at you. And do you know what I see?”

“What?” he replies back slowly.

My thumbs come to the curve of his upper lip, brushing over his beard it till they meet in the center where his defined cupid’s bow is, and run back to the corners of his mouth. “I see a man who has loved and lost—who has loved with his whole heart and been so happy, and who has hurt so very deeply. I see a man who gave someone his all, and when he thought he wouldn’t be able to again, _he did._ I see a beautiful man, inside and out…” I trail off as I look into his eyes, my thumbs moving towards his cheeks.

I glance down at the scar that’s on his right cheek, where it’s over the line that’s a wrinkle formed from smiling too much, being a about half an inch from the right corner of his lips. That small wrinkle tells me exactly the kind of person he is from it—that he’s a “half full” kind of man, who smiles and laughs all the time, and who genuinely enjoys and has enjoyed life. I run my thumb over the line as I look at it. “I see a happy man, who finds and sees hope and light even in the darkest and most painful of times—what’s what the two wrinkles by your lips tell me because they’re from how you smile so much. And I _especially_ see a man who is _sexy as hell,”_ I lick my lips as I start to smile.

I look back into his eyes as my thumbs stop moving, my right one stopping right over the scar, and I see the warmth and lightness once more in them as he gazes at me.

“Look at you. Just _...fuck, look_ at you…” Jeffrey bites his lip as he looks at my face up and down. “Fucking gorgeous and sexy from head to toe...every single inch of you. The most beautiful, caring, and sweet woman I have ever met so far…” He starts to smile now as he shakes his head. “You could have anyone, Calla. You could _have_ **_anyone_** _.”_

“But I want you.”

His cheeks are tinged with a slight pink as he completely smiles at me.

“I want _you.”_

“Your damn professor, huh?” Jeffrey asks playfully with a smile.

I nod my head. “Mhmmm…” I lean in, my hands leaving his face and coming down to the top buttons of his shirt, playfully tracing around them as my lips brush against his.

_“I want you.”_

I barely whisper it, my eyes on his then flickering down to his lips. _But I know he heard it, too._

He kisses me, both of us closing our eyes. I feel his arm move up to be around my waist, while the other comes under my knees. He pulls away from my lips, and groans as he suddenly scoops me up in his arms.

The back of my head rests against his upper arm as I blink and look up at him. “Jeffrey!”

He doesn’t look down at me, ignoring me as he walks away from the table, past my couch and living area, and right over to my bed. Jeffrey throws me on my bed, rather gently though, and I land on my back. He gets on top of the bed and slowly crawls over and up my body, his knees on either side of my body, till his hands come to be next to both sides my head. I see a look of hunger and thirst, with care mixed into that, as he looks down into my eyes. Jeffrey dips his head down, turning it a bit to the side, and stops to where his lips are right at my ear.

_“I want you.”_

He whispers that, placing a soft kiss on my neck. His lips then move to my jawline.

_“I want you.”_

He whispers it again, lips grazing against my skin as he does, and leaves another kiss there. Then his lips come to mine, brushing against them as our breaths intermingle. I stare into his eyes that are looking down at my lips.

_“I want you.”_

After he whispers it again, he looks up and into my eyes for a brief moment, before they close when he kisses me finally. And just like always—just like since the very first time—we mold and melt perfectly against and into one another.

Clothes leave our bodies, till I’m just down to my pink and lace cheekster panties, and he’s in his blue, plaid boxers, hovering over my body. Soft and affectionate kisses in the night, tracing constellations with the freckles on my cheeks, forehead, chin; down to my neck, shoulders, and collarbone.

I sit up now, still in my panties, with my head turned to the right, resting my chin on my shoulder, and my eyes are closed. Jeffrey is behind me on his knees, the touch of his fingertips running up and down the length of my arms making my body burn with great intensity—the feel of his lips brushing and grazing over my skin as he draws lines that connect from one freckle and beauty mark to another along my back—drawing shapes, writing words, mapping out the constellations and milky way galaxy into my skin, planting a sweet and gentle kiss on every freckle, mark, and scar.

And I do nothing but relish in the great intensity—the great aching, wanting, and needing that courses through my entire body to my core—and the intense warmth of care that fills my heart to the brim, making it feel so full to where I’m afraid all of his care and affection he’s pouring into my heart will spill over and flood my entire being.

Until...until there’s a knock at the door, followed by the doorbell ringing, and then another knock.

My eyes snap open at the sound, and his lips pause. Jeffrey lifts his head back up, and I turn to look over at him, my face just as confused as his.

“Let me see who it is,” I tell him.

He nods his head, and we both get off my bed together. I go to one of my drawers and pull out a t-shirt that stops at my hip bones, putting it on. I walk across my apartment to the front door in just that shirt and my pink panties, taking long strides as I continue to hear knocking in between the door bell being rung nonstop.

“I’m fucking coming!” I shout, “So you can stop till I get to the door!”

The knocking and ringing does stop as soon as I shout this, and within moments I’m at the front door. I don’t bother to look through the peephole, too upset and angry for this moment between us being interrupted and the insane amount of knocking and ringing of my doorbell this person is doing.

I turn the lock on the handle of the door, and then unbolt it. I open the door completely wide open, knowing Jeffrey is somewhere behind me in my apartment watching and looking out for my safety too.

I see dirty blonde, messy and wavy, short hair—bright, campanula blue eyes that I once looked into as if they were the entire world—that I once use to search wondering if they were as deep and mysterious as the ocean that they resembled itself—and a goatee matching the same color of his hair.

_Rhett._

My hand gripping the width of my wooden apartment door tightens with intensity.

_Rhett._

I look at the man standing in front of me, my head tilted up while his is down to look at me, with nothing but heartbreak and sorrow in his eyes.

_Rhett._

For a split-second I see his eyes leave mine and look over my head, most likely seeing Jeffrey who is probably walking over to me, and then look back into mine with that same damn look—with that same damn fucking sorrow-filled, guilty, pitty, puppy eyes.

_Rhett._

“What the _FUCK?!”_


	12. Update

Hey ya'll,

I just want to personally apologize for how long it's been since updating this story. My personal life has really become very busy--from starting to see and date someone new for the first time in almost a year, to taking law classes part time over this summer, to working full time this summer as a judicial law clerk for a judge, and to getting back and staying in shape since I wasn't able to during this past first year of law school, I haven't had much time at all to write let alone be on Tumblr at all for these last few weeks. 

But what I can tell you is that I'm incredibly happy with all of this going on in my personal life, and especially happy with the addition of this new man I'm seeing that we both plan on being a long term relationship :) So just know that I am very, very much happy despite how busy I have been, and that I'm being treated very well by him too. 

Although I've been busy, I have no intention of abandoning this fic--I still plan on writing it till the very moment it's completed no matter how long updates and doing so may take. All that I may ask of you is that you continue to be as patient and as understanding as you have been when it comes to how long updates tend to take for me and with what's going on in my life.

Hope you've all been well, and I look forward to when this next chapter is finished and posted for you all to enjoy :)

xxx

\- Jenn

**Author's Note:**

> ****Important: I decided to change the name of my OFC from Perla to Calla. Calla is an OFC that's very close to my heart, who I have used in another fic before (which no longer exists). I originally decided to use Perla because I'm also using Calla in my future Negan/OFC multi-chapter fic; however, my heart is really telling me to also use Calla for this fic. Calla in my Negan/OFC fic is going to be drastically different from the Calla I'm using here for various reasons, so that's why I also feel fine with changing the OFC I'm using in here.
> 
> I already went back through this chapter, and the version I posted on Tumblr, and changed the name from Perla to Calla, just as a heads up.****


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